Per Ardua Ad Astra
by LittleLeto
Summary: M!Hawke/Fenris. A proud, prickly mage runs into a proud, prickly, mage-hating elf, and, after a shaky start, they find they have more in common than they first realised. Strong language, moderate sex scenes. Also with Anders, Varric and others.
1. Chapter 1

_This story has been published elsewhere under a different pen name. For anyone who has read it on a different site, yes, I am the original author. :-)_

_In this story, although Hawke is a mage, Carver died and Bethany survived._

_Chapter 1 contains a bit of game dialogue, which I apologise for; I try not to over-use it. The story will generally follow the events of DA2 but will not strictly follow canon._

_This story will contain scenes of non-consensual sexual acts and one instance of rape, but it will not be graphic. Please do not read if you will find this distressing._

~o~O~o~

"It's empty."

"Waste of bloody time! Who put us up to this?"

"I don't care, so long as we get paid. Come on; let's see what that Anso has to say for himself."

Hawke exited the house, holding the door open for Varric, with Anders and Bethany following close behind. As soon as they'd stepped foot back into the alienage square, several well-armed thugs slowly bled out of the shadows and emerged from around corners and from behind crates, quickly surrounding the foursome.

"This is getting really boring," snapped a tired and irritated Hawke. "We were only supposed to retrieve a bit of stolen property, and instead we've been attacked by half of Lowtown!"

"That's not the elf," said a woman who appeared to be leading the thugs.

"It doesn't matter," replied a man stood next to her, as he drew his sword. "Captain says, kill all of them!"

"Idiots!" growled Hawke. "You just keep throwing yourselves at my staff, don't you?"

"Mine, too," said Bethany with an unwholesome smile as she readied her weapon.

Several of the thugs surged forward, only to immediately be thrown backwards as Hawke and his sister surrounded themselves in a protective field. Anders and Varric dropped back and started to pick off the thugs as they vainly attempted to engage the siblings, and any venturing too close to either Anders or Varric were punished with flame or frost.

Soon, the group of thugs was dispatched. Hawke, who was getting pretty tired of being attacked for no apparent reason, surveyed the bodies and spat on the ground. "Pitiful. Why do they even bother? Let's see what they've got and find that bloody dwarf: he's got a lot to answer for."

They split up and began to loot the corpses, all with the exception of Bethany, who had refused to take from the dead ever since she and her family had left Lothering. Anders wasn't keen, either, but didn't want to appear unhelpful, and Hawke had proved a good friend to him in the short time they'd known each other. He crouched down next to the nearest body and gingerly rifled through the man's pockets and backpack.

"Hawke," he called out, and beckoned his fellow mage over. Hawke stood up and walked over to Anders, squatting down next to him. "These were no ordinary street thugs, Hawke. Look at their armour, their swords: they bear the mark of the Imperium."

"Huh," snorted Hawke derisively. "You'd think they'd have been better prepared for mages, then. I really don't care where they're from, anyway; let's just grab anything useful and get our money from Anso."

"I think that's about it, Hawke," Varric announced as he walked over, turning a few coins over in his hands. "They weren't carrying much money, and their weapons are no good to any of us. I may be able to get a bit for their armour, though; I'll get a few boys down here from The Hanged Man to clean up."

"That's not much," said Hawke, looking down at the meagre amount of money in Varric's palm.

"It's enough for a couple of rounds," Anders answered with a shrug.

"True enough, Blondie; I think we could all do with a pint, couldn't we?"

"More than one," replied Hawke. "Come on, Beth," he called over to his sister, and the four of them approached the steps leading out of the alienage.

As they began to ascend, a lone man, wearing similar armour to the men that had just accosted them, rounded the corner at the top of the steps.

"Oh, what now?" groaned Varric. Hawke's expression hardened.

Upon spotting Hawke and his companions, the man stopped in his tracks and rested his hand on the pommel of his sword. "I don't know who you are, friend, but you've made a serious mistake coming here." He looked Hawke up and down, and his eyes wandered over to the numerous corpses scattered around the alienage. "Lieutenant! I want everyone in the clearing, now!"

Receiving no answer, the man glanced behind himself. "Lieutenant!" he barked.

An erratic shuffling could be heard from around the corner, and Hawke once again readied his staff as a second man appeared; it quickly became apparent, however, that he was gravely injured, and he fell to his knees in front of his captain, blood pouring through a hole in his cuirass. "C-Captain!"

"Your men are dead," sneered a deep, slightly nasal voice from behind the dying man.

A striking man stood before them: obviously an elf, but taller than most of his kin. He appeared to be in his late twenties, and yet his hair was whiter than Hawke's mother's, and it flopped over one of his large, moss-coloured eyes. Upon his back he carried a sword that was almost as tall as him, and yet he moved down the steps with a cat-like elegance, and he possessed a steady dignity. As he neared, Hawke and his group noticed strange markings upon his skin, and that his feet were unclad.

The elf glanced at the captain as he reached the bottom of the steps, and then walked past him, fixing his eyes upon Hawke. "And your trap has failed," he said, addressing the captain with his back to him. "I suggest running back to your master while you can."

The captain's face twisted with rage and he reached out, roughly grabbing the elf's shoulder. "You're going nowhere, slave!"

Bethany gasped and covered her mouth with her hands as a murderous look fell across the elf's face, and the markings upon his skin were illuminated with a blue glow. He spun round and held a gauntlet-clad hand in front of the captain, before plunging it through his chest, surpassing flesh, bone and sinew.

"Bloody hell!" Hawke cried, and he, Anders and Varric took several steps back; Bethany had already run over to the far end of the alienage.

"I am not a slave," the elf said angrily, and let the captain fall to the ground, blood pouring from the gaping hole in his breastplate. He then turned to face the others, and held both of his hands up in appeasement.

"I apologise," he said with a sigh. "When I asked Anso to provide a distraction for the hunters, I had no idea they'd be so…numerous."

"Anso?" asked Hawke, taking another step back as the elf approached him. "What does he have to do with this? What do you mean by a 'distraction'?"

The elf stood still, suddenly aware that the others were afraid of him. Realising he still needed their help, he took a deep breath and lowered his voice, not wishing to alienate them. "My name is Fenris. These men…" he said, gesturing at the corpses, "…were Imperial bounty hunters seeking to recover a magister's lost property, namely myself. They were trying to lure me into the open. Crude as their methods were, I could not face them alone. Thankfully, Anso chose wisely."

"You're an escaped slave?" asked Anders, taking a few cautious steps forward. "This seems like a lot of trouble to go to over one slave; is it something to do with what you…just did to that man? Those markings?"

Fenris looked down at his arms and then back at Anders, noticing from the corner of his eye that Hawke had folded his arms and assumed a hostile posture. "Yes, I imagine I must look strange to you. I did not receive these markings by choice. Even so, they have served me well; without them, I would still be a slave."

Anders stepped closer to the elf, but not too close, and examined the markings. "So, you killed your master? Is that why they're after you?"

"Step back, Anders," warned Hawke. "We don't know what he's capable of." Anders did as advised, but continued his scrutiny of Fenris' markings, which he found fascinating.

Fenris' shoulders slumped and he sighed. "I can assure you I have no intention of harming you. I did not kill my former master; I escaped his custody and he has followed me here. I heard he was residing in a mansion in Hightown, and I needed help to distract his guards while I verified the claim."

"So, everything Anso said was a lie?" asked Hawke.

"Not everything. Your employer was simply not who you believed," answered Fenris. "Perhaps the deception was unnecessary. If so, I am sorry. I have become too accustomed to hiding."

"Fine," muttered Hawke, whose usual good nature and sense of humour had deserted him following several unexpected attacks. "Do we get paid, now?"

"I will repay you, but I will need your help one last time. I must confront my former master before he flees."

"You must be joking!" Hawke laughed mockingly. "We were supposed to be recovering a bit of stolen property for a dwarf; instead, we've been attacked by several groups of people, and now we find out we were being used as bait! I don't like being used."

"Careful, Brother," warned Bethany, who had ventured a little closer. "You've seen what he can do."

"As I said before, I have no intention of harming any of you," Fenris assured her.

"Good, then let's get out of here," said Hawke, walking past Fenris. "You know what? Keep your money. I've had just about enough for one night."

"Please," Fenris implored, his voice catching a little. "I…am not in the habit of asking for help, but I am doing so now."

"Hawke," said Varric, beckoning his friend over. Hawke groaned and walked over to Varric, casting Fenris a wary glance as he passed by. "Look, we need all the money we can get; the expedition, remember? He said he'll repay us."

"I know what you're saying, Varric, but I don't like myself, or my sister, being used as fodder."

"C'mon, Hawke! None of those jokers posed any real threat to us, did they?" argued Varric.

Hawke sighed and called Bethany and Anders over. "What do you two think?"

"I admire him," Anders replied, nodding enthusiastically. "Think of what he must have gone through to get here from Tevinter. He deserves his freedom, and I want to help him."

"Bethany?" asked Hawke.

She looked over at Fenris, who stood alone at the far end of the square, examining his feet, no longer appearing as fearsome as when he'd first arrived. "I must admit, I was scared when he…did that thing, but…he's all on his own, isn't he? Think how we felt when we first arrived here, Fletcher," she said to her brother, "and we had each other. He looks so…lonely. Life on the run can't be pleasant."

"It's not," Anders agreed. "We're all apostates, expect Varric, of course. We know what it's like to be in fear of having our liberty taken from us. If you don't want to help him, Hawke, I'm going to."

"And we're not going into the deep roads with this," said Varric, once again showing Hawke the few silvers he'd collected from the bodies.

"Oh, very well," Hawke conceded reluctantly. "I don't trust him, though; Beth, you're taking the rear. I don't want you anywhere near him."

"All right, Brother," she agreed.

They slowly walked over to Fenris and Hawke stood in front of him, his arms folded. "We'll help you, but you'd better make it worth our while."

Fenris hung his head and exhaled, clearly relieved. "I will give you all the money I have, I swear it."

"Surely not all of it?" asked Bethany, cocking her head to one side. "Keep a coin or two for yourself."

Fenris' features softened a little, and he looked up at Hawke, fixing him with his huge green eyes. Hawke looked away briefly, feeling a flutter in his belly that was neither expected nor welcome. "I am grateful," said Fenris. "Please meet me in Hightown as soon as you are able; Danarius may already be making ready his escape, now that his guards have been vanquished."

"We'll go now," replied Hawke. "After you," he said in a suspicious tone.

"Of course," Fenris said with a nod, and he turned and began to ascend the steps, with the others following a short distance behind.

~o~O~o~

"So, who's Danarius? Is he your master?" Anders asked as they proceeded through Lowtown.

"My former master," corrected Fenris, his voice hardening. "He has chased me from Minrathous to Kirkwall; he is relentless in his pursuit and will never leave me be, not as long as he draws breath."

"You intend to kill him, then?" asked Anders.

"I intend to make him suffer," Fenris growled, his posture stiffening and his voice taking on a rasping quality; Hawke held his arm out in front of Bethany and pushed her further back. "I intend to make him beg for his life, on his hands and knees, like a dog. And, yes, I intend to kill him, but slowly, and not before I have paid him back double for everything he has done to me."

Anders glanced at Hawke and Varric before turning back to Fenris. "Wow. He must have been a real bastard. I must admit, sometimes I felt like shanking the knight-commander at the Circle Tower, but the blasted templars always got in my way," he joked.

Fenris stopped dead and looked up at Anders as he caught up. "You are…a mage?"

Anders chuckled. "Well, yes…I don't carry this staff for my health, you know." His smile faded. "Is there a problem with that?"

"That remains to be seen," Fenris answered with obvious distaste, and continued walking, distancing himself slightly from Anders.

"We're not all as bad as we're made out to be, you know, Fenris," Bethany said softly.

Fenris stopped again and turned to face her. "You, as well?"

"Yes, my sister is a mage," Hawke cut in, standing in front of her, "as am I. If you have a problem with that, you'd better speak up now."

"I'm not a mage, if that's any help," Varric offered in an attempt to diffuse the tension.

"We're from Ferelden," said Anders. "We're nothing like the magisters."

"And how would you know what the magisters are like?" Fenris snapped. "Have you ever visited the Imperium? Have you ever witnessed a magister sacrificing a child in a blood ritual for sport? Have you seen their slaves dragged around on leashes like pets? No? Then do not presume to know what life in the Imperium is like!"

"I-I wasn't…"

"Don't you talk to Anders like that!" retorted Hawke. "If we mages are not good enough for you, then I'd be quite happy to stick to our original plan of getting oiled at The Hanged Man, and you can make your master bark like a dog all on your own! You either want our help, or you don't! From where I'm standing, your options are pretty limited."

"Forgive me; I-I meant no offence," said Fenris, shaking his head. "It is difficult for me, after being kept in bondage for so long by a mage."

"Let's get this done quickly, Hawke," Anders said angrily, no longer fascinated by Fenris' markings or his story. "I have a shithole in Darktown to get back to."

"We all have shitholes to get back to," replied Hawke, casting Fenris a filthy look. "Get a move on, Fenris; we don't have all night."

Fenris nodded wearily and quickened his pace, staying well ahead of Hawke and his group, and they made their way to Hightown in silence.

~o~O~o~

As Hawke, Anders, Varric and Bethany left Danarius' mansion, Hawke shared out the money they'd found within between the four of them, keeping back Fenris' share.

They found him leaning against a wall with his eyes closed, seemingly unaware of their presence.

"We were wondering where you'd run off to," said Varric as he approached the elf.

Fenris opened his eyes and briefly glanced over at the group before looking away. "It never ends," he said heavily. "I escaped a land of dark magic, only to have it hunt me at every turn. It is a plague burned into my flesh and my soul. And now I find myself in the company of yet more mages."

Varric groaned softly as his three companions tensed and shifted, Hawke and Anders in particular.

Fenris walked over to Hawke and stopped a few feet in front of him. "Tell me, then: what manner of mage are you? What is it you seek?"

"I'm the manner of mage who seeks getting paid, and getting shot of an ungrateful elf that uses me and my friends as a lure, and then insults us every opportunity he gets, that's what!"

"Yes, a 'thank you' wouldn't go amiss, you know!" added Anders, standing at Hawke's side.

"I imagine I appear ungrateful. If so, I apologise, for nothing could be further from the truth." Fenris reached into a small pocket in his breeches and produced some coins. "I did not find Danarius, but I still owe you a debt. Here is all the coin I have, as Anso promised." He dropped the coins into Hawke's palm, taking care not to touch his hand.

Hawke's mouth fell open as he stared into his palm. "Twenty silver? Are you having us on, or something?"

"I…that is all I have," Fenris explained. "I am still not familiar with the currency here; is that not a sufficient reward?"

"Hey," whispered Varric. "He's an escaped slave. I don't imagine his pockets are groaning with coin."

"And tonight hasn't been a complete waste of time," Bethany added. "The money we found in there will feed us for a week, plus we can save some for the expedition!"

Hawke shook his head, more eager than ever to get to The Hanged Man. "Here's your share," he said to Fenris, producing two sovereigns and some change.

"No!" Fenris exclaimed, taking a step back. "I want nothing of his!"

"Well, at least have your twenty silver back," said Bethany. "You need to eat, as well."

"I…" Fenris began, not wishing to accept charity from a mage of all people, but he was forced to admit that he had no idea where his next meal was coming from.

"Here, then," Hawke said, placing the silvers back into the elf's palm. His hand briefly touched Fenris', who gasped, quickly snatching his hand away.

Hawke shot a contemptuous glance at the elf and shook his head, his mouth set in a hard line. "Come on, Anders. We may be able to get a few rounds in before kicking-out time. Beth? You coming?"

"I feel tired, Brother, and should go home to check on Mother," she answered.

"All right. You get the drinks lined up, Anders, while I walk Beth home. I don't need to ask if you're coming, Varric?"

"I'll be along shortly," Varric replied, taking a step closer to Fenris.

Hawke glanced at Varric curiously, and then shrugged. "We're done here, then," he said to Fenris, and stepped closer to him. "You'd better go and wash that hand. A _mage_ has just touched it," he growled, and he, Anders and Bethany walked off, leaving Varric and Fenris behind.

~o~O~o~

"I don't understand people like that elf," grumbled Hawke as he finished his fourth pint. Varric was sat opposite him; Anders wandered over and placed Hawke's fifth in front of him before taking his own seat. "First he's an arsehole," continued Hawke, slurring slightly, "then he's all apologies. Then he's an arsehole again, and then he apologises again. You're either an arsehole, or you're not; make your bloody mind up!" he said to no one in particular.

Anders and Varric chuckled and nodded in agreement.

"Reminds me a bit of Carver," Hawke went on, his face dropping a little. "Except Carver never apologised. He was always an arsehole. At least he was consistent, though; I'll give him that."

"You didn't get on with your brother, then?" Anders asked.

"We hated each other," Hawke replied, taking a deep swig of his ale, staring at his mug for a moment, and then taking another.

"You…miss him though, don't you?" Anders guessed.

Hawke glanced up, his eyes half-closed as he tried in vain to focus on Anders. "Miss him? I feel as though I have a gaping hole in my belly, just like that elf did to that bloke earlier."

"Oh, yes, the bigot," Anders said irritably, folding his arms.

"Don't be so hard on him, Blondie; sounds like his master was a real prick. He's bound to be wary of mages. I'm sure if he got to know you all, he'd be fine."

"Why are you sticking up for him, Varric?" Anders demanded. "I wonder if you'd feel the same if you were a mage."

"Everyone needs an arsehole in their life," slurred Hawke, having completely missed the discussion between Varric and Anders. "Everyone needs a nemesis to keep them on their toes. Who's your arsehole, Anders? Or is there more than one? Is there a list?"

Anders laughed and nodded his head. "A list, eh? Now there's an idea!"

"How about you, Vazzers?" asked Hawke.

"I told you not to call me that," scolded Varric. "You don't call Blondie some dumb name, do you?"

"Oh, and 'Blondie' isn't dumb?" Anders retorted. "My hair isn't even blond! It's red!"

"I don't need to call Anders anything else," Hawke proclaimed, prodding the table with his finger for emphasis. "His name is perfect. If his name was Andrew, then I'd call him Anders. It's a sign of affection, Vazzers."

"Ugh," Varric grunted with a wave of his hand. "Keep your affection!"

"So, who's your arsehole, Vazzers?" Hawke asked again, oblivious to Varric's irritation.

"I like my own just fine," he answered. "Although, my own brother can be a bit of an ass, but…nah. I don't hate anyone. Hating takes up too much time and energy, and I've seen it consume people. It's much easier to like, than to hate."

"You're too good to be true," said Hawke, pointing an accusing finger at Varric. "You can't be my arsehole; you're too bloody nice."

"Glad I am to hear it," Varric muttered, and he turned to Anders, lowering his voice. "I think it's about time he went home."

"Let's finish this round, and then we'll see him back," suggested Anders.

Hawke suddenly burst out laughing, startling the other two. "Ha! I could be my own arsehole! What do you think of that, then, Mr. Answer-For-Everything?" he asked Varric.

"You can't be your own arsehole!" Anders exclaimed, also laughing. "You'd be forever arguing with yourself! What about that elf? He's certainly made it onto my list."

"No!" Hawke said impatiently. "Haven't you been listening to the rules? Your own personal arsehole needs to be someone who is always around to disagree with everything you do! Just like my brother was…I'm lost without him; lost, I tell you." He rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand and fell silent, resting his head on his hand and closing his eyes.

"Well, you may get your wish, if you're in the market for an asshole," announced Varric. "The elf's meeting us here, tomorrow morning."

"He's _what_?" Anders asked sharply.

One of Hawke's eyes slowly opened. "Uh?" he mumbled.

"Well, think about it, Hawke: he's pretty handy with a sword, and that hand thing he does could be useful to us. We're planning on going up Sundermount tomorrow, aren't we? There are tons of bandits holed up there. We're gonna need as much help as we can get. Besides, I kind of feel sorry for the guy; so does Sunshine."

Hawke removed his head from his hand and sat up as straight as he could manage. "Well, Sunshine is obviously a much nicer person than I am," he remarked, gesticulating with floppy arms. "Did you see the way he reacted when I touched his hand? He obviously hates mages. It'll never work."

"Look, I talked to him," said Varric. "I told him you were a good bunch of people. He actually seems like a pretty decent guy; sure, he has issues, but don't we all?"

"You don't," Hawke replied snarkily.

"I'm not sure this is a good idea, Hawke," Anders opined with a doubtful shake of his head.

"Just give the guy a chance!" Varric urged. "Let's call it a trial run. If he turns out to be too much of an asshole, then we turn him loose. We do need someone like him, though, Hawke; you said as much yourself. Someone who can take the heat off of us while you wave your arms around and cast spells and stuff. The only other choice we have at the moment is Aveline," he said pointedly.

"That harpy? Forget it!" Hawke exclaimed, his hand slicing through the air. "Ugh, she's so bloody moral all the time!"

"Then it's settled," Varric said simply. Anders and Hawke both sank back in their chairs and groaned, too tired to argue.

"So, we're going up the mountain to take that necklace thing back to the elves," Varric said, confirming their pre-arranged plans. "Anything else, Hawke?"

"Wait," Hawke replied. "We still need to get our reward from that bloke at the chantry who calls himself a prince."

"Oh, yes! That should be good for a laugh!" chuckled Anders.

"I bet you fifty silvers he's a nutter, as well," Hawke said to Varric.

"I'm not taking that bet, Hawke; I have a feeling I'd lose. Who haven't we met so far who isn't a little touched in the head?"

"Right," Hawke agreed, nodding blearily. "So, here's the plan: Anders, you'll probably want to give the chantry a miss, so Varric and I will go there first thing, then we'll meet up here. I'm not bringing Beth along, though, just in case that elf tries anything."

"Aw, so I don't get to see my little ray of sunshine tomorrow, then?" moaned Varric.

"No you don't," Hawke answered with mock severity. "Just you keep those lumpen dwarven hands away from my sister."

"You wound me," Varric said, feigning hurt, placing one hand over his heart. "My intentions towards your sister are nothing but honourable."

Hawke rose unsteadily to his feet. "Hmm. I suppose you could pop in for a cup of tea when we're done, if only to stop her moaning that she hasn't seen you."

"She moans when she doesn't see me?" Varric asked brightly, rising to his feet, followed by Anders.

"Oh, now you're putting ideas into his head," said Anders, grabbing Hawke's arm as he swayed a little. "Come on; I'll see you home."

"I'll see you both home," offered Varric. "The two of you need your beauty sleep; we've a long day ahead of us tomorrow."


	2. Chapter 2

Hawke was in a brighter mood the following morning, and he and Varric entered The Hanged Man five sovereigns richer following their visit to the chantry.

Anders, who was sat at a table near to the door, beckoned them over. As they joined him, Hawke noticed Fenris sitting alone at a table at the far end of the lounge, but did not acknowledge him.

"So, how did your meeting with the nutter go?" Anders asked lightly.

Hawke frowned. "Well…turns out he really _is _a prince, or at least _he_ believes he is. He's bloody rich, anyway; that armour didn't come from Shady Sam's, that's for sure. Custom-made, that was."

"_And_ we have five sovs to play with," added Varric.

"Five?" exclaimed Anders. "Blimey! Does he have any more work for us…? Hawke? _Hawke?_"

"Snap out of it!" Varric clapped his hands in front of Hawke's face.

"He had the most _amazing _blue eyes," Hawke said dreamily, and then pulled a face. "He _was _going a bit thin on top, though; that was a bit off-putting."

As Varric self-consciously touched his own hairline, Hawke shot him a sly glance. "Personally, I like something to grab hold of. Gives better purchase. Know what I mean, Varric?"

"Will you _stop_?" protested a squirming Varric, although he was glad to see Hawke so jovial; such episodes did not usually last long for the troubled young man.

"Well, you _will _walk around with that chest of yours on display for all to see. I'm not made of stone, you know," Hawke teased, his hand snaking towards Varric's open coat.

Varric shot up out of his chair and headed over to the bar, leaving a sniggering Hawke and Anders behind. Hawke reached into his pocket and produced the five sovereigns he'd collected from the man with the amazing blue eyes, laying them on the table.

"Varric and I talked about this on our way back, but we'll only do it if you agree."

"Oh, yes?"

"Well, as we all did quite well last night, I thought we could put all of this in the expedition kitty, but as you helped us with the Flint Company mercenaries, you're more than welcome to take your share."

"No, that's fine, Hawke; I have enough to keep me going for a while."

"You're sure? Do you need anything for the clinic?"

"Not at the moment."

"Well, let me know if you do, or if ever you run short of your own funds. The money in the kitty _is _for the expedition, but none of us will be any good for it if we starve to death in the meantime."

"I will, Hawke; thanks." Anders' face dropped as he looked behind Hawke and saw Varric and Fenris approaching them. "It was _such_ a nice morning," he said drily.

Hawke glanced around and immediately turned back to face Anders, his shoulders tensing a little.

"Allow me to introduce you to my friends," announced Varric. "This is Blondie…" Anders nodded curtly and did not correct Varric. "…and this is Hawke. Gentlemen, I'd like you to meet Fenris."

Hawke turned a little and looked Fenris up and down. "And this is Varric, although he prefers to be called 'Vazzers'.

Varric tutted and glared at Hawke momentarily, and then invited Fenris to take a seat.

"I will remain standing," Fenris announced, feeling neither comfortable nor welcome.

"Of course he'll remain standing," sniped Anders. "He's too good to sit with _mages_, isn't he?" His eyes locked with Fenris's, and the two of them stared each other down.

"Well! Isn't this pleasant?" Varric laughed nervously and leaned against the wall, uncertain whether to stand with Fenris or sit with the mages. "Today, we're travelling to Sundermount to take back this trinket thingy to the elves…"

"Sundermount? That is where the Dalish reside," Fenris said. "I encountered some of them on my way here. They do not welcome outsiders."

"I heard that, too," replied Varric. "Perhaps they'd be a little more welcoming, with you being an elf and everything?"

"Hardly. They would see me as a city elf, no better than the shemlen they despise so."

"Can't _wait_," Anders said sarcastically, resting his head on his hand and pouting.

"Why should the Dalish be any different?" grumbled Hawke. "Pretty much everyone we've met on our travels has either tried to skewer us or has told us to piss off back to Ferelden."

"Hmm," Varric mumbled. "We _do _seem to attract a lot of trouble. This is where you come in, Elf," he said to Fenris. "We need someone who can distract the scumbags while the magic boys here do their stuff. Of course, you're free to join in and do some skewering of your own."

Fenris nodded once. "I will do my best."

Hawke glanced at him and sat back in his chair. "If you pull your weight and protect us, you'll get an equal share of any spoils or money we find. Anders, Varric and I look out for each other, and we expect you to do the same."

"Understood."

"Let's get going, then," said Hawke.

~o~O~o~

Predictably, the group ran into trouble as soon as they set foot outside Kirkwall. A well-organised group of bandits blocked their path and demanded money from them.

"You people never learn, do you?" sneered Hawke, readying his staff; Varric and Anders had already dropped back into defensive positions.

Fenris approached the leader of the bandits and stood in front of him, looking up at the man, who was a clear foot taller than him. "Let us pass," he demanded.

The bandits fell about laughing, and a noxious smile crept along their leader's lips as he unsheathed his sword. "Good. I like uppity knife-ears; they make great servants. My boots could do with a shine, elf, and then you'll oil my boys' leathers. Get to it!"

Varric's face lit up as Fenris's markings glowed, and he thrust his hand into the leader's chest, who immediately sank to his knees, shrieking in agony. Several expletives issued from his men as they backed away, some of them dropping their weapons to the ground.

"I _said_…" snarled Fenris, "…let us _pass_."

"Y-yes! S-sorry…_please_! It _hurts_!" wailed the bandit leader as urine pooled between his knees.

Fenris released him, his eyes flitting between the remainder of the bandits. "Would anyone _else _like their boots shined?"

"Let's get out of here!" cried the leader, hastily scrambling to his feet.

"Turn out your pockets, first!" commanded Hawke, much to Varric's approval.

The bandits hesitated for a moment, not wishing to relinquish their spoils, until Fenris took a step closer to them, his markings still glowing. Quickly, they began rifling through their pockets and packs, and threw several coins, trinkets and daggers to the ground.

"Now, fuck off out of here!" Hawke bellowed. "If we ever run into you again, my friend here will not be so merciful!"

Needing no further prompting, the bandits fled for the hills.

"Nice work, Elf!" Varric exclaimed as he began to collect the bandits' spoils. "What did I tell you, Hawke?"

Hawke cautiously approached Fenris, who was bent over with his hands on his knees, his breathing laboured. "Are you…all right?" he asked cautiously.

Fenris straightened up and backed away a step as Hawke neared; Hawke ceased his approach and kept his distance.

"I am," Fenris answered succinctly.

"How do you do that?" asked Hawke. "What _is _that you have on your skin?"

Fenris held his arms out and examined them. "It is lyrium; it was burned into my flesh by my former master."

"_Lyrium?" _Anders gasped. "Burned into your skin? I-I've never heard of such a thing!"

Hawke looked at Fenris with awe. "So it allows you to…pass through solid objects?"

"It does."

"Then why do you need a sword? You could just do that thing with your hand to anyone that threatened you, couldn't you?"

Fenris sighed and rested his arms at his sides. "It is…not easy. It causes me…discomfort."

"The markings are painful, then?"

Fenris shifted slightly. "Perhaps we should move on, lest the bandits are foolish enough to engage us once again."

Hawke shrugged. "All right; I was just curious. Let's pick up the rest of this stuff and get going."

The four men began to gather their booty, and Fenris wandered over to a large rock; some coins had rolled into a crevice, and he got down onto his knees to retrieve them, but could not quite reach.

"Having trouble, Elf?" asked Varric as the other three men wandered over.

"My arms are too short," Fenris complained, eliciting a chuckle from Hawke. Did the elf have a sense of humour?

"Anders, you have the longest reach; you try," suggested Hawke.

"Righty-ho," answered Anders, crossing over to where Hawke stood next to Fenris.

Fenris began to stand, placing his hands against the rock for support, and then he froze, falling back to his knees, his eyes widening and his mouth falling open. Hawke shot a confused glance at Anders, who shrugged in return.

"Fenris?" asked Hawke.

Fenris gave no answer, and his breathing quickened, his armoured fingers clawing at the rock.

"What's wrong with you?" Hawke demanded, placing a hand on Fenris' shoulder.

"_Noli Me Tangere_!" Fenris snarled, leaping to his feet and wheeling round to face Hawke, his markings flaring and his face contorted into an expression bordering on feral.

"Hey! Just take it easy, sport!" Varric urged, running over.

Hawke quickly backed away, looking at Fenris in horror, and the elf closed his eyes, the glow of his markings waning.

"You bloody lunatic!" yelled Anders. "He was only trying to help you!"

"I-I did not mean…I am sorry…"

"Save it!" snapped Hawke, his anger fuelled by fear. "What did I say?" he asked Varric furiously. "Nice one minute, an arsehole the next! I can't bloody keep up!"

"_Aveline_, remember?" Varric reminded him.

"Fuck that; Aveline may be a bitch, but at least she's never tried to kill me," Hawke groused as he stalked up the hillside, closely followed by Anders.

"Now, come on, Hawke; he didn't try to…"

"_You _wanted him to come along so much, Varric, _you_ keep an eye on him," ordered Hawke as he and Anders disappeared around a corner.

Varric groaned to himself and glanced over at Fenris, who stood examining his upturned palms and shaking his head. "You ok there, tiger?"

Fenris slowly looked up, unfathomable depths of hurt and fear in his eyes. "I…did not mean…I…could not help myself," he said softly, his shoulders sagging in defeat.

"Look," said Varric, taking a step nearer to the elf. "I can see you have some…stuff to work through, but just try to keep a lid on the, erm, anger problem, huh? That thing you do with your hands is great, seriously great, when dealing with bandits and the like, but when it's turned on us, it's kinda…terrifying, you know?"

"Yes, I know," replied Fenris. "I should apologise to him."

"No," Varric answered quickly. "I'll talk to him; I know how to get round Hawke. Listen; Hawke and Blondie are young and hot-headed. Hawke's quick to anger, but it doesn't last long. You just spooked him, is all. I'll sweeten him up. Just try not to make a habit of it, ok? Hawke's kind of in charge, here, and he says who works with us, and who doesn't. Stay on his good side, and you won't find a better friend, trust me. He's a little…moody, but…" Varric cleared his throat, conscious of not saying too much. "Besides, we _need _you, and I'm guessing you could do with some coin. We need you, and you need us."

Fenris nodded and stepped a little closer to Varric. "You are wise, and speak the truth. I will endeavour to…contain myself."

"That's the spirit!" chirped Varric. "I like you!"

"You-you _do_?"

"Sure! I have a feeling things will be very interesting with you around. Come on; let's have a slow walk up, give those two some time to cool off."

~o~O~o~

Anders and Hawke were deep in conversation as they reached the outskirts of the Dalish settlement. Hawke's previous anger had quickly abated, as it always did; Anders's, however, had not.

"I feel kind of bad, Anders; I think I might have hurt him when I grabbed his shoulder like that. He hinted that the markings are painful…or rather, I asked him, and he changed the subject."

"That's no excuse for him to turn on you like that!" Anders argued. "Did you see the look on his face? He wasn't in control of himself at all!"

"I think I startled him," Hawke reasoned. "He doesn't seem to like being touched…"

"Being touched by _mages, _you mean."

"We don't know that, Anders. Who knows what his life was like as a slave? He may have been beaten or Maker knows what. It's probably traumatised him, or something."

"Don't get feeling sorry for him, Hawke," urged Anders. "He's not right in the head. He'll be trouble, mark my words."

Hawke frowned and shook his head. "I think we should give him one more chance. You saw how he dealt with those bandits."

"Yes, and he very nearly dealt with _you_ in the same way! And what was all that about when he was kneeling down in front of the rock? He just freaked out."

Hawke stopped walking and sighed, running his hand through his mop of curly brown hair. "I just wish I hadn't lost my temper like that."

"You had good reason to!"

"No…I never used to be like this. I just fly off the handle at any little thing these days. It's since we left Lothering…since…"

Anders slapped Hawke's back and let his hand rest there. "I know."

"Halt, shemlen, and state your business!" Six Dalish elves seemed to appear from nowhere and surrounded the two mages, who immediately halted.

"Erm, we're here to see your leader, or master, or whatever you call him," said Anders, nervously glancing around at the elves, four of whom had their bows trained on him and Hawke.

"Keeper," Hawke corrected him. "We'd like to see your Keeper, please."

"And what business does the likes of _you_ have with the Keeper?"

Hawke's nostrils flared as sudden irritation sprang up inside him. "An ill-mannered Dalish elf. How very novel!" he spat, folding his arms. "Never you mind what we want him for; just go and fetch him."

"We will not fetch _her_, shemlen, until you explain your presence here!"

Hawke closed his eyes, sick to the back teeth of being attacked and talked down to since his arrival in Kirkwall just over a year earlier, sick of not being back in Lothering, and sick of everything not being the way it used to be.

"Forget it," he said flatly, turning to leave. "I'll go and sell this amulet at the market; I should have done that in the first place, and saved myself a journey."

"Wait!" a female Dalish called to him, and then turned to face one of her companions. "Perhaps this is the one the Keeper spoke of."

"Halt, Shemlen!" her male companion commanded.

"I'm not a fucking horse, you know!" barked Hawke as he turned around, still rattled by the incident with Fenris. "I went to a lot of trouble to bring this amulet to you, because I promised someone I would. _I _was raised properly and I _keep _my promises. I asked you nicely if I could see your Keeper, and you look down your nose at me and keep telling me to halt? Who do you think you are?"

"Hawke…" Anders touched his arm. Hawke rubbed his eyes and grunted.

"You will forgive us if we are less than welcoming," said the male elf, "but your kind has given us plenty of reasons to be wary."

"So that's _my _fault, is it?" demanded Hawke. "Now, do you want this amulet, or not?"

"The Keeper will want to see you," answered the elf. "Come with me."

Hawke scowled and shook his head at Anders, who mirrored the gesture as they entered the camp. "A dwarf and an elf will also be arriving shortly," Hawke told the Dalish. "If they receive the same reception as we did, I'll stomp on this bloody thing."

"Go to the entrance," the male elf instructed one of his kin. "And bring the dwarf and the elf to the Keeper as soon as they arrive."

~o~O~o~

Having received a much more favourable reception than Hawke or Anders had, Varric and Fenris met up with the two mages at the foot of Sundermount. Fenris hung back a little, feeling ashamed of his earlier actions, but Hawke no longer appeared hostile toward him; rather, his ire was directed toward the Dalish.

"Well, it seems that merely bringing the amulet back wasn't enough," Hawke wearily told them. "We've got to go up the mountain – yes, _up _it –find one of the clan, do some kind of weird ritual and _then_ we have to take the clan member _with_ us."

"Take them with us?" asked Varric. "Why? Is that part of the ritual, too?"

"No, apparently they want to leave, and we're to deliver them safely to the alienage in Lowtown. And do we get any money for this? Not a sausage. The only currency these people seem to deal in is scorn, disdain and rudeness. The sooner we get this done, and get out of here, the better."

"Do we have to do this at all, Hawke?" Varric asked. "It seems an awful lot of trouble with no reward."

"Yes, I have to do it," Hawke replied with a sigh. "The witch did save us, after all…"

"The_ witch_?" Fenris interjected.

"…As I was_ saying_, the witchsaved my family and I promised to see this through for her. I've never broken a promise in my life; my father drummed that into me when I was very young."

Fenris, remembering Varric's advice, decided against any further comments concerning witches. "Your father sounds an honourable man."

"He was."

"Oh…I see. In that case, you have my condolences."

Hawke's brows knitted together as he glanced at Fenris, utterly confounded by the elf's unpredictable behaviour. He gave a brief nod, and then turned to the others.

"You don't have to come with me; we're not going to make any money out of this, after all. If you all want to get back and do other things, I won't blame you."

Anders shrugged. "Well, we're here now, and I'm not needed at the clinic until later."

"And I'm not leaving the two of you running unchecked around the Free Marches," added Varric. "Come on."

"How about you, Fenris?" asked Hawke, hearing a huff from Anders.

"I will accompany you, if you wish."

"All right," answered Hawke, who was already making his way up the mountain path.

Anders watched him go, and then, checking that Fenris wasn't standing too close, he sidled closer to Varric. "Hawke's pretty wound up," he said in a quiet aside.

"Yeah, I noticed. I'll talk to him, Blondie, as soon as we get a quiet moment."

Anders nodded. "Thanks. Is he…all right? I mean, I know I haven't known him for long, but, well, he's been good to me, and he seems all over the place."

"We haven't had a heart-to-heart or anything like that, but his tongue loosens up when he's had a few. From what I can gather, he's lost his pa _and _his brother, and, as he's now the head of his family, it really bites him that all he can provide for his mother and sister is a fleapit in Lowtown that doesn't even belong to him. He told me his family were well-respected back home; here, though, they're nothing."

"Hmm. Yes, I understand what it's like to leave your old life behind. Kirkwall was a bit of a shock to me, as well."

"You've never mentioned your old life, Blondie," Varric said with a curious look in his eyes.

"Neither have you."

"Touché, Blondie," he chuckled, and looked behind him. "You coming, Elf?" he called; Fenris had fallen back, not wishing to intrude on a clearly private conversation.

Anders, irritated that he hadn't had the chance to express his concerns about the elf to Varric, walked ahead and caught up to Hawke.

Not far up the trail, Anders and Hawke ran into the Dalish elf that the Keeper had mentioned. By the time Varric and Fenris had caught them up, the two mages, intrigued to discover that the elf was also a mage, were enjoying a friendly chat with her.

"Oh! These are the friends you mentioned?" asked the elf, who had introduced herself as Merrill.

"Yes; this is Varric, and…Fenris," Hawke said in introduction, gesturing to the two men.

Varric swept an arm around his waist and bowed, while Fenris, having spotted her staff, folded his arms and stared at her. "Alius magus," he muttered under his breath.

"Some of us here _do _speak Arcanum, you know," Anders bit out.

"Well _I_ don't," Merrill sang with an innocent smile. "What does it mean?"

"Never mind," replied Anders caustically. "Nothing _intelligent_, anyway."

"Well, I don't speak Arcanum, either, but I think I got the gist," Hawke commented with a stern look at Fenris. "If you're going to make sour comments, Fenris, at least have the balls to make them in the common tongue."

Fenris arched one of his eyebrows, but made no reply.

"Nice to see a fellow elf around here," Merrill said to Fenris. "Which clan are you from, then?"

"I am from no _clan_," Fenris answered shortly.

"B-but…your tattoos…"

"These are not tattoos!" raged Fenris as Varric clapped a hand over his eyes and groaned. "Did _your _tattoos hurt when they were applied?"

"Yes! They bloody well stung! Made my eyes water, they did!"

"They _stung_, did they? Did the sting cause you to pass out for three days, awakening only to find you had no memory of your former life? Did they do _that_?"

"Of course not!" Merrill laughed with a delicate wave of her hand. "Don't be daft!"

Fenris' mouth fell open, and his eyebrow shot up even higher; Anders burst out laughing. Varric shot an amused glance at Hawke, who was studying Fenris carefully, his eyes narrowed slightly.

"Shall we get going, then?" suggested Merrill in a breezy tone. "It's not wise to make Asha'Bellanar wait, you know."

"Who is Asha'Bellanar?" asked Fenris, his tone suspicious.

"A _witch_," Anders replied, holding Fenris' gaze for a moment, before he turned and joined Hawke and Merrill. Hawke paused for a moment, his eyes still on Fenris; he then caught up to the other mages, with Fenris following not far behind.

Varric took the rear, and shook his head as he watched the other four. "Yes, it's going to be _very _interesting around here," he said softly to himself, and shook his head again.


	3. Chapter 3

Merrill led her new friends, as she called them, through a system of caves that allowed them to circumvent the impassable eastern face of Sundermount. Finding their way through was not a problem, as the three mages cast various spells upon themselves and Varric which surrounded them all in a soft, ethereal glow, allowing them to navigate the dark caverns safely. Fenris had declined to have a spell put on him, which had resulted in another huff from Anders, but nothing further had been said.

After clearing a path through the various wild animals that resided in the caves, the group stopped for a brief rest before continuing their ascent.

Anders and Merrill were getting along famously, and they chatted like old friends, while Fenris sat on the ground and examined his bare feet in the pale light that emanated from the others. While the others were occupied, Varric took the opportunity to take Hawke aside.

"How's it hanging, Hawke?" he asked pleasantly.

"To the left, as always," Hawke deadpanned, his eyes dropping to his groin.

Varric rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Remind me never to ask you _anything_, ever again."

Hawke exhaled and smoothed down his robe. "I'm all right now, Varric. Sorry for popping off at you like that."

"Meh," Varric mumbled with a shrug. "I guess I'd have reacted in the same way. He's pretty scary, huh?" They looked over at Fenris, who had crossed one leg over the other and was busy picking debris and tiny stones off the soles of one of his feet.

"Hawke?"

"Hm? Oh, well, yes…he did frighten me, I'll admit that, but I think_ I_ frightened _him_ more. He doesn't really look that scary now, does he?" He sighed, turned away from Fenris, and looked down at the dwarf. "You're right, Varric; we _do_ need someone like him. I just think I'd better keep Beth away for now, at least until I know what sets him off. She hasn't had it easy since…well, and now she has to take care of Mother, who's never been the same after losing Carver."

He meshed his fingers together on top of his head. "I know I've been an irritable shit, but it's only because I want this expedition so badly. It kills me to see Mother and Beth wearing second-hand clothing and sleeping on rotten floorboards. I just…I want better for them, you know? All I care about is the expedition, and we can't get that money together fast enough for my liking."

"Hey, we have eighteen sovs in the kitty already, Hawke, with that five from your handsome prince; that's not bad going at all. We'll get there; we'll just have to wade through some crap on the way, that's all."

"I can do that," answered Hawke.

"It'll be worth it, just you wait and see. Your ma and sister will live in a palace, and will wear the finest dresses money can buy."

"You'd like to see that, wouldn't you?" asked Hawke with a grin.

"A palace? Sure I would."

"I _meant_ my sister in a pretty dress."

"Well, that would be nice, as well," said Varric, returning Hawke's smile. "For her, of course."

Hawke held his hand out and Varric gave it a firm shake. "You're a good friend, Varric. I _would_ hug you, but I think you'd prefer I yelled at you, instead."

"I'd rather you stabbed me, actually," Varric quipped, and Hawke's laughter echoed throughout the cavern, prompting Fenris to look up.

"I'm gonna go and see what Blondie and his little friend are up to, before they start canoodling and embarrassing us all."

Hawke slapped his friend's shoulder and watched as he walked away, becoming aware of Fenris in his peripheral vision. He took a deep breath and slowly walked over to him. "Fenris? May I speak with you?"

Fenris nodded, brushed his feet off, and pushed himself up, all the time watching Hawke warily.

"Look, I'm sorry if I, erm, startled you back there…"

"No," Fenris cut in. "It is I who should apologise."

"Oh." The two men examined the ground for a moment, and Hawke fiddled with the ties on his robe. "Well, erm…let's call it even then, shall we?"

"You are gracious," said Fenris.

"No, I'm not; I'm an arsehole."

Fenris' brow creased, and he wrinkled his nose a little. "Is that not what you called me?"

"It is, isn't it?" Hawke said with a rueful snort. "That's the pot calling the kettle black, as we say here."

One side of Fenris' mouth turned upward, and a halting laugh rumbled through his chest. "Yes, that is said in the Imperium, also."

"Did I hurt you?" asked Hawke. "If so, I really am sorry."

Fenris turned aside, his posture stiffening. "No, it is not that…I…well, as you said, you startled me, but that did not justify or excuse my reaction."

"I expect you've had to rely on that…ability of yours since you escaped?" Hawke speculated. "It must be hard to just switch off."

Fenris looked down at the ground, and then glanced briefly at Hawke before averting his eyes. "Perhaps."

"Anyway, I'm glad we cleared that up," Hawke said briskly, sensing that Fenris was uncomfortable with discussing his markings. He extended his hand, and Fenris stared at it for a moment, seeming unsure of what to do.

Hawke retracted his hand and forced a smile. "Well, let's get a move on." He turned and walked toward Anders, Merrill and Varric. "Ready?" he asked them.

"Yes, we won't be far from the summit once we leave the caves," Merrill piped up. "Should be an hour or so."

"Lead the way then, Merrill," said Hawke.

"Oh! You want _me _to lead?" she asked in surprise.

"Well _we_ don't know the way, do we?" Anders asked good-humouredly.

"True. Very true," agreed Merrill . "That _is _why I'm here, isn't it? Right; this way, then." She walked ahead, and then stopped. "Erm…that was the way we came in, wasn't it? Silly me." She then proceeded in the right direction, with Anders' laughter following her.

A little way on, Anders dropped back, beckoning Hawke over to him.

"Everything all right?" asked Hawke.

Anders shot a glance at Fenris, who walked ahead of them. "Please don't tell me you just apologised to him."

"We _both _apologised," Hawke explained, holding his hands up to stop Anders' protestation. "Look; I know you're not keen on him, but I thought it was better to clear the air, rather than have a bad atmosphere hanging over us all. I'm trying to be nice. I know I've been a bit…prickly, lately."

"Only with people who've deserved, it Hawke. I just…his reaction to what you did was completely out of line. I consider you a friend, Hawke, and…oh, it doesn't matter."

Hawke stopped and turned to Anders. "No, say what's on your mind."

Anders sighed. "It's hard enough for us mages as it is, without working with someone who clearly despises us. He could go to the templars, for all we know. They'd have a field day: you, me, your sister, and now Merrill, all banged up in The Gallows?"

"I can't see him doing that, Anders; I get the feeling he doesn't want to draw attention to himself."

"Well _I'm _not taking any chances. I'm keeping an eye on him; I don't trust him."

"You do that, friend," replied Hawke, and Anders ventured a faint smile, his posture relaxing. "So…you and Merrill. Getting along like a house on fire, aren't you?"

Anders hung his head bashfully and snorted. "She's cute, and I think we have the same sense of humour. Yes, I think I'll get on with her."

"And?" Hawke prompted.

"And, what? Maker, Hawke, we've only just met!"

"I'm just wondering if I need to be fitted out for a suit, that's all?"

"Oh, piss off!" Anders began to walk ahead.

Hawke quickly caught up and very obviously stared at his face. "If I didn't know any better, Anders, I'd say you were blushing."

"What?" Anders touched one of his cheeks. "It's the light in here."

"What light, you fool? We're in a bloody cave."

"This discussion is over," Anders declared, walking quickly ahead, almost breaking into a run, with Hawke hot on his tail.

~o~O~o~

Hawke was still badgering Anders when they exited the cave and stepped out onto the winding trail that led up the southern face of the mountain. From their vantage point they could see far across the Waking Sea, although they were too high up to hear the ocean, or anything else for that matter, save the wind that wailed mournfully around the lonely peak.

Hawke squinted, wondering if he'd be able to see Ferelden from there, and then he shook his head in self-remonstration. Of course he wouldn't be able to.

Fenris stood away from the group near to the edge of the path, his eyes also fixed on the horizon. "The silence is beautiful," he said quietly.

"No it's not, it's bloody boring," Merrill argued, much to Anders' amusement. "Does anyone know any good jokes? I know a few, but they're all sort of…elfy. Might go over your heads a bit."

"Tell me anyway," said Anders as the two of them walked ahead, followed by Varric, who offered to tell them a few of his own. Fenris sighed and began to follow them.

"It _was_ beautiful, while it lasted," Hawke said to him.

Fenris glanced at him, a hesitant, almost shy smile pulling at his lips. "I am glad you agree. Surprised, but glad, nonetheless."

"I'm full of surprises," said Hawke with a grin. "As are you."

Before Fenris could respond, a loud exclamation could be heard from up ahead. "What's _that_?" they heard Anders ask.

Fenris and Hawke quickened their pace, and, as they caught up to the others, they were astonished to find that the path forward was blocked by a magical field that neither Anders nor Hawke had seen the like of before.

"Oh, right. I forgot about that," Merrill muttered with a shifty glance at the others. "I-I know how to get us through, just-just give me a minute."

She stepped closer to the magical barrier and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. When Hawke spotted her slipping a small dagger out of her belt, he understood why she'd been so nervous, and watched the others closely for a reaction.

"No! What are you doing?" Anders cried as she plunged the blade into her left forearm and raised both of her arms into the air, a second field of energy surrounding her. Anders covered his face with his hands and turned his back on her.

"Blood magic? Why am I not surprised?" remarked Fenris, his reaction much more measured than that of Anders'; clearly, he'd encountered maleficarum before.

"And who asked _you_?" Anders spluttered, stomping over to where an unconcerned Fenris stood.

"Look, that's enough," Hawke interrupted, placing himself between them. "The way is clear, now. Let's just get this over and done with."

"Erm, fellas?" called Varric. "She needs a little help, here." Merrill stood next to Varric with her hand clamped over her forearm, which was bleeding heavily.

"I don't know how to heal," she admitted.

Anders shook his head in disbelief. "Then what the bloody hell did you do that for?"

"I had to get us through, didn't I?" she argued.

"We could have discussed it! There _are _two other mages here, you know!"

"No, that was the only way…"

"I thought you were all right!" griped Anders, pointing a finger at her. "How could you be so…so stupid?"

"I _am _all right!" Merrill insisted. "I'm still the same person I was five minutes ago, you know!"

"No." Anders shook his head, his expression hard. "You're not the same person at all."

Hawke walked over to Merrill's side and examined her arm. "Why don't_ I_ heal Merrill, Anders, before she bleeds to death?"

"Do what you like," he huffed.

Ignoring the sulking Anders, Hawke tended to Merrill. "Hold your arm up above your head," he instructed her. "_No_, Merrill. I mean the one that's bleeding."

"Oh, yes, of course," she blathered, shooting an anxious glance over at Anders.

"You _do_ know this won't heal properly, don't you?" asked Hawke, noticing several scars criss-crossing her forearms.

"I know. I appreciate whatever you can do, Hawke."

Hawke completed healing his spell, which stemmed the bleeding, but a nasty gash still remained. "That's the best I can do, Merrill; I'm sorry." He looked around in vain for something to use as a sling, and finally removed his belt, using it to secure Merrill's injured arm across her chest. "Keep that arm out of action for the rest of the day; you don't want it to start bleeding again."

"Thank you very much, Hawke," she said sincerely.

"Anders, will you keep an eye on her? She's lost quite a bit of blood."

"I'd rather _you_ did, Hawke," Anders replied, walking away from the group.

Hawke threw a strained smile at Merrill, and quickly walked over to Anders, stopping in front of him. "_You_ are supposed to be our main healer, Anders; that is why we agreed for you to stay with us after you gave us the maps, and it's also why you get a share of our money."

"But she's a blood mage!"

"So?"

"_So_?" Anders exclaimed. "How can you be so casual about it? That girl looked a demon in the eye and made a deal with it! Do we really want to be associating with people like that, Hawke?"

"So you don't see any parallels between that and the deal _you_ made with a spirit, then?"

"That's not the same thing at all, Hawke! When I took him into my body, it was to help him, not to gain power or anything like that…"

"Hah," sneered Fenris. "So you are _also_ an abomination."

Anders' eyes blazed, and he charged over to Fenris, stopping inches in front of him. "Call me that again! Go on, I dare you!"

Merrill gasped and placed her hands on her hips. "Wait…did he just imply that _I'm _an abomination?"

"_He_ didn't _imply_ anything," Fenris answered, his tone biting. "He came right out and said it!"

"Everybody shut up, _now_!" commanded Hawke, striking the ground with his staff, the resulting tremor almost throwing the slightly-built Merrill and Fenris off their feet. As the shockwave subsided, Hawke's four companions watched and waited for him to speak. "We are _not_ here to judge Merrill. We _are _here to bring this amulet back, which I would like to do as soon as possible; then, we can all go our separate ways."

He walked back over to Merrill and took another look at her arm. "Merrill and I are going to continue up the mountain. The rest of you can either come with us, or you can stay here and bicker like small children until night falls. I couldn't care less. Come on, Merrill."

Without a backward glance, he led the petite blood mage up the mountain path. Varric raised his eyebrows and quickly followed, leaving a simmering Anders and a righteous Fenris glaring at one another. Finally, Anders broke eye contact with the elf and the two of them caught up to Hawke and the others, walking several feet apart.

~o~O~o~

After finding a witch inside the amulet, or, at least a _piece _of the witch, Hawke stood in the Dalish camp at the foot of the mountain and scratched his head, sighing. On any other week, he would have deemed such an occurrence bizarre, but since meeting Varric and Anders most of his days had required at least a little suspension of disbelief.

Following a final appeal from the Keeper for Merrill to stay, which she refused, Hawke reluctantly agreed to escort Merrill to the alienage, where accommodation had been arranged for her in advance.

"Don't suppose anyone wants to come with us?" he asked his by now rather dour companions.

"I will have no part in aiding a maleficar," Fenris declared haughtily, and, without another word, he turned and departed the camp.

Anders, annoyed that Fenris had stolen the very words from his mouth, and not wishing to appear as though he agreed with him, made an excuse. "I need to get back to the clinic."

"But I thought you weren't needed there until later?" Hawke reminded him.

"It's later _now_," he replied as he walked away from them. Merrill stared after him and hung her head as he, too, departed.

"Varric?"

"I'll walk with you as far as The Hanged Man, Hawke; I have some business to take care of."

"Good!" said Hawke with false chirpiness, looking down at Merrill. "See? Not everyone hates us!"

"Oh, that's good," she replied, not even trying to feign enthusiasm.

Merrill was very quiet during the trip back to Kirkwall, and started to look distinctly nervous as they walked through Lowtown.

"I guess this is where I say goodbye," Varric announced as they arrived at The Hanged Man.

"Hang on, Varric," said Hawke, "I need to split that money we got from the bandits before I get it mixed up with my own." He scrabbled through his pockets and produced a handful of coins, which he began to sift through. "I'll catch Anders later and give him his share. I wonder where Fenris is staying? He didn't stop for his cut."

"He's holed up at that mansion in Hightown."

"What…what? You mean his former master's house?" Varric nodded. "The one full of dead shades and demons?"

"The very same, Hawke. I know; creepy."

Hawke sighed loudly. "Great. Just the place to end my day." He continued to count the money in his hand. "Right, between the four of us…" He glanced at Varric and dropped his voice to a whisper. "Shall we…?" he asked with a glance at Merrill. Varric understood and nodded.

"Between the five of us, then…here, Merrill," he said, holding a few coins out to her. "We earned a bit of money, today; this is your cut."

"_My _cut? But I didn't do anything!" she protested, staring at the coins.

"You're going to need money, Merrill," advised Hawke, dropping the money into her tiny hand. "Let's call it…three sovereigns."

Varric raised an eyebrow, suspecting that Hawke had given Merrill his own share. "I think you'll find that's four-and-a-half, Hawke."

"Yes, you're right," replied Hawke with a wink at the dwarf. "Four-and-a-half. There you go." He placed another one-and-a-half sovereigns – Varric's cut – onto the palm of her hand.

"Oh! Trying to swindle me, were you?" Merrill teased.

"You've got me there!" joked Hawke, holding his hands up in surrender.

"Well, I'd better go," said Varric, turning to Merrill. "Listen, Daisy, stop by sometime; I'll set up a tab for you."

"My name's not Daisy. It's Merrill. Oh…that's a nickname, isn't it? I've never had one of them before." She glanced up at the front of the Hanged Man. "But…I've never been in a pub before. I've heard stories…"

"Varric lives here," Hawke reassured her. "And if he's not there, I usually am. Tell you what, why don't I see you to the alienage, then later on my sister and I will call for you, and I'll show you around my second home."

"You have a sister?" Merrill chirped excitedly. "Does she look like you?"

"Thankfully, no," answered Hawke. "_She_ got the looks. So, how about it, Varric? We'll meet you later? Unless you have other plans, of course."

"Never too busy to see my friend, Hawke."

"_Or_ his sister." Hawke and Varric shared a laugh, and Varric entered the pub, letting the door swing closed behind him.

"See you later, then!" Merrill called after him.

"Come on then, Merrill; we're not too far from the alienage."

"Oh, all right, then," she replied, glancing around at all of the new sights, sounds and smells as they walked. "I, erm…I wanted to thank you for sticking up for me, you know, earlier on?"

"Well, I wasn't really…" he began, and then sighed. "Those other two were being unreasonable, I thought."

Merrill glanced up at him and quietly cleared her throat. "Do you…do you think that Anders will, erm…well, are you friends with him?"

Hawke grimaced a little, realising the meaning behind her words. "I daresay you'll see him at The Hanged Man; he's a regular," he said evasively.

"But do you think he'll reconsider…you know?" she asked with a hopeful gleam in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Merrill; Anders is pretty set against blood magic."

"Oh." Merrill hung her head and fell quiet.

"Where did you learn blood magic, anyway?" he asked quietly, glancing around to ensure passers-by could not hear.

"Well, a spirit came to me one night while I was asleep," she explained, and Hawke nodded; most mages had had a similar experience at some point in their lives. "She was so kind and friendly, and told me that she could show me things that would benefit my clan."

Hawke shook his head at Merrill's naivety, but continued to listen.

"When I told them what I'd done, though…they just turned on me. They didn't understand. I only wanted to do it to help them, but…" she sighed and they continued through Lowtown in silence for a few moments.

"So…how did _you _learn it, then?" she asked as they neared the slums.

"How did I learn what?"

"Blood magic, of course!"

Hawke stopped in his tracks and frowned at Merrill. "What do you mean ?"

"I-I just assumed…you're the only one who hasn't wanted to lynch me when they found out. So…are you…?"

"I'm sorry, Merrill, you're mistaken," Hawke answered briskly, quickening his pace.

Merrill struggled to catch up with him and gently touched his arm, quickly retracting her hand and looking up at him nervously. "I haven't offended you, have I? I-I'm not exactly beating friends off with a shitty stick at the moment."

"No, it's fine," Hawke answered blankly with a sigh as they entered the alienage. They walked down the steps together, and Hawke remembered his first meeting with Fenris, and noted with relief that the slavers' bodies had been removed.

"Ah, there's our contact," he said, noticing a female elf standing across the square. He took Merrill over and introduced them, and, after making sure that Merrill did indeed have accommodation, he left with the promise that he and Bethany would call for her later, hoping that the two women would become friends; the only other woman Bethany had to talk to was their mother, and Merrill had no friends at all now she'd left her clan.

Making his way back through Lowtown, he once again stopped outside The Hanged Man and placed his hands in his pockets to see how much money he had, producing approximately one sovereign, fifty silver. Fenris's cut.

He stared at the coins for a moment, almost tempted to slip inside for a quick pint, but the money he held in his hand didn't belong to him.

He once again pocketed the coins, and began to make his way toward Hightown, and the mansion at which Fenris was staying, wondering what kind of reception he'd get.


	4. Chapter 4

After knocking several times at the door of Danarius's mansion and receiving no answer, Hawke headed back through the courtyard, muttering to himself that he'd walked all that way for nothing, when he paused, fancying he could hear faint music.

He concentrated, eventually tracing the sound to one of the upper-floor windows. He looked up and listened for a few minutes, his foot tapping in time with the jaunty tune.

With a curious smile on his face, he walked back to the door and knocked again; still the music continued, and still no answer came. He warily turned the handle to the door, finding it was unlocked. Craning his head around the door, he looked around; thankfully the shades and other creatures they'd killed the night before had been destroyed, or at least removed, by Fenris.

"Hello? Fenris?"

The music paused momentarily before resuming.

"Fenris! Are you there?"

The music finally stopped, and nothing else could be heard.

"It's Hawke…I'm sorry to disturb you. I did knock…the door was open."

After a moment, Fenris appeared on the landing at the top of the stairs. "Hawke…I was not expecting…erm…is something amiss?"

"Oh, no, I just wanted to bring you your share of the day's takings," he said from the doorway. "It's thanks to you we made any money at all."

"Oh…well, come in." Fenris left the landing, disappearing through a door at the rear.

Hawke closed the door and made his way up the stairs, glancing around the huge, empty mansion. "In here," Fenris called from the centre room leading off the landing, to which the door had been left ajar.

Hawke entered the large room, in which Fenris had made a bed for himself upon a small settee in one corner. Several pieces of broken wooden furniture lay scattered around the room, presumably destroyed for firewood; a good-sized fire blazed from the hearth, and Hawke could make out one or two table legs within the flames. Fenris sat upon a small bench next to the fire with a half-empty bottle of wine in his hand, and gestured for Hawke to sit in the armchair opposite.

"I have no glasses," explained Fenris as Hawke took a seat, passing the wine bottle over to him.

"They're a waste of glass, if you ask me," answered Hawke, taking a slug from the bottle and returning it to Fenris. "Thanks, that's pretty nice. You're…rather fond of it yourself, aren't you?" he asked, his eyes wandering to the two empty bottles on the floor next to Fenris.

Fenris shrugged and took several deep gulps of wine before setting the bottle down.

"Hey! _That's_ what I could hear!" Hawke exclaimed with a huge grin on his face, having spotted a beautifully-crafted lute propped up against the bench upon which Fenris sat. "My grandfather used to play one of those…may I?"

"By all means," said Fenris, passing the instrument over to him. Hawke ran his hand along its curved back and strummed a few of the strings, producing a jarringly dissonant chord.

"You're pretty good," he complimented Fenris, who smiled lopsidedly in reply. "How long have you been playing for?"

"Erm…" Fenris' eyes darted to his left as he tried to formulate a convincing answer in his mind. "Long enough," he eventually answered.

Hawke, remembering Fenris' words to Merrill telling of how he had no memory of his former life, wondered if Fenris could actually remember having learned at all. "Sorry; I didn't mean to be nosy."

"No…you're not," answered Fenris, taking the lute off Hawke and carefully leaning it against the wall. "Do _you_ play?"

"Uh, I can play the spoons," Hawke offered, cringing a little.

"The spoons?"

"Yes, and oh! I can produce a few decent notes with a jug, as well, but I'm particularly proud of my work with the spoons."

Fenris frowned heavily, and looked at Hawke with an expression of confusion and mild amusement, his head tilted to one side. "That is a form of musical expression with which I have yet to become acquainted."

"Oh, you haven't_ lived_ until you've seen me play the spoons!" Hawke boasted. "You'll have to stop by at The Hanged Man one of the nights…oh, maybe it's not your kind of thing, though…" He paused, noticing that Fenris' expression had changed to one of outright bewilderment.

"You are a very strange man," he told Hawke.

"You know, that's the nicest thing anyone's said to me since I arrived in Kirkwall!" joked Hawke.

Fenris laughed softly, shaking his head, and passed the wine bottle back to Hawke, who took another swig from it. "No, it really _is _the nicest thing anyone's said." He reached into his pocket and produced a few coins. "Here, Fenris; this is your share of the bandits' loot."

He dropped the coins into Fenris' outstretched palm, taking great care not to touch him. "There will be more, once Varric has sold the other stuff we got from them."

"Thank you for bringing this to me," Fenris said, slipping the money into his own pocket.

"Well, I wasn't sure if we'd see you again; you sort of buggered off once we got back to the camp."

Fenris nodded, but offered no explanation.

Hawke got to his feet. "Well, I just wanted to let you know that if you wanted to, you'd be welcome to work with us again. Varric and I meet up every morning at The Hanged Man, and there's nearly always something needing taking care of. If you ever fancy tagging along, and earning a few more coins, well, just show up one of the mornings."

"Will the others be there?" Fenris asked.

"The other mages, you mean?" Hawke glanced down at Fenris, who smiled thinly in response. "Well, Anders is a friend of mine, and he's always with us when he's not at the clinic. Merrill, well, I don't know if she'll be working with us, but she'll probably be around, as she doesn't really have anyone else. Then there's my sister and I. So, I'd say that if you have a problem with mages, you may want to reconsider working with us, as there will usually be at least two of us around."

Fenris considered this for a moment and looked up at Hawke. "You seem different to the others…as does your sister."

"Different? How?"

"I don't know, you seem less…" Unable to find the right word, he shrugged and smiled ruefully. "Forgive me. Perhaps I speak on a subject of which I have little knowledge." He rose to his feet and sighed. "My experiences with mages so far have not been…pleasant ones and I tend to look for faults in other mages that perhaps are not there."

"Then come and work with us," offered Hawke, "and let us prove you wrong."

"A challenge?" asked Fenris, stroking his chin. "Perhaps I will take you up on it. We shall see."

"Well, like I said, I'll be at The Hanged Man in the morning. Hope to see you there."

"If I _do_ work with you," Fenris said quickly, "my opinions may not coincide with yours, or those of your friends."

"Well, it would be a pretty boring world if everyone agreed on everything, wouldn't it?" asked Hawke.

"Yes, indeed it would…thank you again for this," replied Fenris, patting the pocket which contained the coins.

Hawke nodded and left the room, heading down the stairs; Fenris followed him to see him out. Halfway down, Hawke stopped and turned to him. "You know, you really shouldn't leave your door open," he advised.

"We forced entry, remember?" Fenris reminded him. "I can find no key."

"Oh yes, of course," mumbled Hawke. "Tell you what, I'll ask Varric to take a look at the lock for you; he's good with things like that. For tonight, though, I'd recommend you at least push a chair against the door."

"For what purpose?" asked Fenris. "There is nothing of value, here."

"Well, your safety is of value, for one thing. What if your master – sorry, former master – was to return?"

Fenris' features darkened at the mention of Danarius. "He _will _return eventually, but not just yet. He is regrouping and formulating new strategies; it is the way it has been for the past three years."

"You've been on the run for three _years_?" exclaimed Hawke, and Fenris nodded slowly, his eyes betraying his bone-weariness.

"He will never stop hunting me. He no longer wants me as his slave; he wants me dead, and to strip the flesh from my corpse to get his precious investment back," Fenris growled, his hands fisting at his sides. "Sometimes I just wish that…no, I should not burden you with this. I apologise."

"It's all right," said Hawke. "I don't mind."

Fenris cleared his throat and proceeded to the main door, opening it for Hawke. "Thank you again, Hawke." He passed a bottle of wine to Hawke that he'd brought down with him. "Take one of these; there are plenty."

Hawke took the bottle and nodded in gratitude, turning to Fenris one last time. "Remember; the Hanged Man tomorrow morning. See you there."

As the door closed behind him, Hawke was both amused and relieved to hear the sound of furniture being moved around inside, and heard a soft thud against the door as something was propped up against it. He thought again of Fenris's assertion that Danarius would strip the flesh from the elf's body and glanced up at the windows of the mansion; and, satisfied that they were all securely closed, he finally left the estate, accompanied by a feeling of vague unease.

~o~O~o~

Hawke pushed open the door to Gamlen's house – well, Gamlen's hovel, as he called it – and was immediately met with a crushing hug from Bethany.

"Brother! I'm so glad you're home!"

Hawke returned the embrace, and lowered his mouth to her ear. "Everything all right?" he whispered.

She sighed and also lowered her voice. "Mother has been very…weepy today, and Gamlen…well, he's been Gamlen."

Hawke slung an arm around his younger sister's shoulders and led her over to the small dining table, which had already been laid. "I'm sorry, Beth; I had reasons for not taking you with me today. Don't worry, though; I'm taking you out for a drink after supper. There's someone I'd like you to meet."

"Oh?"

"Well, we met a Dalish elf on our travels and she's staying at the alienage. I think the two of you might get along; we'll call for her later."

"Oh, I look forward to that!" Bethany said excitedly.

Hawke cleared his throat and once again lowered his voice. "She's a, erm, a blood mage. You wouldn't believe it though, to look at her."

"Really?" whispered Bethany as they took their seats at the table. "And what did the others have to say about that?"

"They weren't over-keen, put it that way. Anders completely overreacted, in my opinion."

"Anders? But I thought that he of all people would have understood?"

Hawke sat back and folded his arms. "Well, Anders doesn't believe that Justice is a demon, as I do, so obviously he's better than a weak, feeble-minded blood mage, isn't he?"

"I wonder how he'd react if he _knew_?" she mused.

"He doesn't need to know; I'm never going to use it again, so what would be the point? Anyway, he didn't feel it necessary to tell me that he was host to a powerful spirit upon our first meeting, did he? It didn't occur to him, because that's just who he is."

"That's true, Brother. How did Varric react?"

Hawke laughed. "Does Varric ever react to anything? If he had an opinion, he certainly didn't express it. I think he's got the right idea."

"So, erm…" Bethany fiddled with her fingers and glanced sidelong at her brother.

"Yeeeeeessss?"

Bethany broke into giggles and nudged Hawke with her elbow. "Will, er, who will be going for a drink tonight?"

Hawke shook his head. "Why don't you just ask a straight question, Beth?"

"I just did! Now answer me."

"Well, as we're going to the Hanged Man, where Varric _lives_, I'm sure he'll put in an appearance at some point…" He watched as a faraway look came into Bethany's eyes. "…The Maker said he'd pop in for a game of quoits, as well, and I daresay he'll bring his missus along. We may have to call the law if Maeferath shows up again, though; he and the Maker were slung in the cells after that punch-up they had last week."

"Mmm? Oh, yes, lovely," Bethany mumbled with a sweet smile.

As Hawke laughed, the front door flew open and a distinctly grim-looking Gamlen charged in. "Uncle!" called Hawke, holding his arms out in greeting.

"Don't you start, boy; I've had a bad enough day as it is!" groused Gamlen, flopping down into a chair opposite the siblings. "Leandra! Isn't supper ready, yet?"

"I'll go and give her a hand," said Bethany.

"No, I'll go," Hawke offered, and pushed away from the table, heading to the kitchen.

After a few minutes, Hawke brought in a huge pot with a ladle poking out of the top, and Leandra brought in a freshly-baked loaf of bread on a tray. As they placed them on the table, Bethany helpfully went to the kitchen and brought in a slab of butter and cheese, and some cutlery.

"Feel free to help out, Uncle," Hawke said acidly.

Gamlen folded his arms and snorted. "When I'm staying in _your _house, boy, and you're providing _me _with a roof over my head, _then _you can tell me what to do."

Hawke placed his palms onto the table and leaned in toward his uncle. "And when you've found that estate of ours that you misplaced, _then _you can start talking down to me. You owe us, Uncle, and until you pay us back, this _is _my house, and the food you're eating was paid for with _my _money. Remember that."

"Just like his father," spat Gamlen. "No respect for his elders at all!"

"Please," Leandra implored. "Let us have a pleasant family meal, just this once."

"Sorry, Mother," Hawke said, squeezing her hand. Gamlen said nothing.

Hawke stood up and began to ladle his mother's chunky stew into two bowls, while Bethany broke off some bread for herself and passed the loaf to Leandra. "Ladies first," said Hawke, passing his mother and sister a bowl each, before filling his own. He then threw the ladle back into the pot, leaving a grumbling Gamlen to serve himself.

"I've just been to see Fenris," he told Bethany. "Did you know he's staying at that old mansion?"

"Fenris?" asked Leandra. "Another new friend, dear?"

"Well, I don't know if I'd call him a friend, but an acquaintance, certainly," answered Hawke. "He's good in a scrap, and hopefully he'll be working with us."

"He's very handsome," Bethany said with a grin at her brother.

"Can't say I've noticed," he replied, taking a bite of bread. "What?" he asked as his sister gave him a sideways glance. He chewed his bread and swallowed it. "Beth, you really have to stop trying to fix me up with every man we come across."

"Every _man_?" Gamlen asked with a look of horror. "Oh, Maker…you're not…one of _them_, are you?"

"One of them, Uncle? Whatever do you mean?" Hawke asked with mock innocence.

"I don't understand youngsters these days," Gamlen complained, his expression sour. "What's wrong with finding a nice girl, settling down and having children, eh? No, your lot all have to be _different_, don't you?"

"Don't knock it 'til you've tried it, Uncle," Hawke chuckled, and Gamlen shot him a withering glare. "Anyway, I think that _your _lot only moan and complain so much because it wasn't acceptable when you were younger, and you feel you've missed out."

"Oh, do me a favour!" Gamlen threw down his napkin and pushed himself up. "Excuse me, Leandra, but I've lost my appetite." He stomped into the adjoining room and closed the door.

"Oh, good! More for me." Hawke spooned Gamlen's leftovers into his own bowl. "Mother," he whispered, and Leandra leaned forward. "Tomorrow, one of my friends at the docks is getting me some fish, on the side. How about I bring it home before Gamlen gets in, and you make some of your buttery mash and parsley sauce to go with it? We haven't had that since we left Lothering."

"Oh, yes!" Bethany agreed.

"But what will Gamlen have?" asked Leandra.

"There'll be leftover stew, won't there?"

Leandra smiled and shook her head. "You're such a scallywag, Fletcher; just like your father was. All right, I'll see what vegetables I can rustle up to go with it. I have some peas and courgettes, I think." Her smile faded and she stared at the table for a moment. "Carver used to love that dish," she said quietly, and Hawke and Bethany glanced at one another.

"Well, I'll eat Carver's share, then," declared Hawke, forcing a jovial expression. "In his memory, of course."

"I'm sure he'd love you for that, Brother," Bethany chuckled, but there was a hollow ring to it.

"Perhaps I should dump it over my head, instead, Sister; I think Carver would have much preferred that."

"I think you could be right," she answered, and she and Leandra began quietly eating their stew as the conversation lulled.

"I'm stepping out for a gulp of air," declared Hawke. "Excuse me, Mother." He rose and made his way to the back door, pushed it open and stepped out into the small yard at the rear of the property. He moved a few chickens aside with his foot and sat down on the ground, leaning against a wall, and examined the wine bottle for a moment before pulling the cork out with his teeth.

His head fell back and he looked at the sky. Although he could not see it from where he was, the sun had begun to set; the few wisps of cloud that floated overhead were lit from below with a red-gold glow, and he watched for several moments, hoping to see something in those clouds; a shape, a sign, a message; anything.

Disappointed when nothing appeared, he sighed and raised the bottle up to the clouds. "To you, Brother," he toasted, and drank long from the bottle, only stopping when it began to spill out of his mouth and trickle down his neck. Wiping himself on his robe, he stared at the bottle, which was now just over half-full. "Bet you're having a good laugh at me now, aren't you, you bastard?" he asked the rapidly-darkening sky.

He drank some more from the bottle and wiped his mouth, sighing. Pushing himself to his feet, he took one final look up at the sky. "Look after him, Father," he said softly, and drained the remainder of the bottle.

~o~O~o~

Bethany and Hawke did not have far to go to the alienage; it was less than a ten-minute walk away from Gamlen's, and they took a leisurely stroll there, Hawke doing his best to hide the light-headedness he felt after consuming Fenris's wine.

Hawke liked the look of the alienage at this time of night: several small candles had been lit at the base of the Vhenadhal, and each of the small homes around the square had lit lanterns hanging outside their doors. Several elves milled about, some in conversation, some eating their supper in the street with their neighbours, while a few others quietly watched the sunset over the harbour. Hawke marvelled that such beauty and warmth could be found in a place where poverty and squalor were rife.

"Oh, there's Merrill now." Hawke pointed at the mage as she stood outside her modest dwelling, talking to another elven woman, who appeared to be upset.

"Oh, Hawke!" Merrill exclaimed as they drew nearer. "This lady needs our help; her son's gone missing…"

"Erm, Merrill, I really think this is a matter for the city Guard," said Hawke, not wishing to be drawn into another long-winded mission with little to no reward at the end. "Look, I'll go and fetch someone."

Merrill's tiny hand grabbed Hawke's arm and he stopped as she positioned herself in front of him. "He's an apostate," she whispered. Having gotten Hawke's attention, she elaborated. "He was beginning to have trouble…controlling his powers and his mother called the templars, believing he would be safest in the Circle, but he's run off."

The lady burst into tears and Merrill rubbed her back, whispering words of comfort.

"Please, tell me everything you can," Hawke asked the lady, whose name was Arianni, and, after taking a few deep breaths to calm herself, she told Hawke the story while Bethany and Merrill introduced themselves.

Hawke placed a hand over his mouth and shot Bethany a grave glance. "We need to find him, quick; he could be..." Bethany nodded in understanding.

"I didn't know what else to do!" Arianni sobbed. "I thought I was doing the right thing but now I don't know where he's gone and…oh!" She broke down again.

"Listen Merrill," said Hawke. "You stay with Arianni. Beth, I'll take you to the Hanged Man, and you and Varric can go and see if Fenris will join us, while I go and fetch Anders. The more of us there are, the better our chances are." He turned to Arianni. "I will look for the boy's father, and, failing that, we'll talk to the templars." He lowered his voice and muttered under his breath, "although Varric and Fenris can do that. Come on, Beth."

Arianni, too distraught to offer thanks, was led inside by Merrill as Hawke and Bethany departed the alienage.

"So much for a quiet drink at the Hanged Man, eh, Beth?" moaned Hawke.

"Oh, I don't know; after the day I've had at home, I welcome a bit of adventure," Bethany replied with a smile.

"You love all this, don't you?"

"Of course, Brother!" She slipped her arm through his. "Are you sure you want to leave me alone with Varric, Hawke? Shouldn't you be chaperoning us?"

"What for? I'd trust Varric with my life." Bethany grinned and placed a peck on her brother's cheek. "Question is, Beth, can I trust _you_?"

"Oh, shut up!" she laughed, and they made their way to the Hanged Man in light spirits.


	5. Chapter 5

Anders and Hawke were the first to arrive back at the Hanged Man, and Hawke bought them both a pint while they waited for Varric, Bethany and possibly Fenris to return. Hawke could tell that Anders was not pleased at the thought of the elf joining them on their latest escapade, and decided to have it out with his friend.

"Anders, like it or not, Fenris is going to be working with us from now on; well, at least I think he will. I did ask him and he didn't seem opposed to the idea. Are we going to have problems?"

"Why are you asking me, Hawke? You're bringing along someone who hates mages to help look for an apostate who is quite possibly possessed? If there are going to be any problems, they'll come from him, not me."

Hawke leaned forward and fixed his eyes on Anders. "I think there's room for give-and-take on both sides. I'll be speaking to Fenris, as well…"

"Oh, so it's only _partly _my fault that, because his master was a mage, then every other mage in Thedas must be just as cruel and evil? That's perfectly reasonable, isn't it?"

Hawke sat back in his chair and supped at his pint before putting it down on the table. "Merrill," he said simply.

"_Merrill_? What about her?" Anders asked, clearly confused.

"You're telling me your reaction to her was 'perfectly reasonable', Anders?"

"She's a bl…!" he glanced around and lowered his voice. "She's a blood mage, in case you'd forgotten!"

"And what's wrong with that?"

Anders nearly choked on his pint. "Are you insane? Did you hear about what happened at the Circle in Ferelden?"

"Yes, I did. The mages were led by one blood mage, who _was _insane, and his followers were a mixture of the gullible and the witless. Blood magic had nothing to do with that. All right, granted, they were able to summon demons and turn people into abominations, but any mage is capable of staging a coup or losing their marbles."

"So you're saying it's all right that they summoned demons and such like?"

"No, Anders, I'm not saying that at all; I'm just saying that there are good and bad in all walks of life. Could you really see Merrill doing something like that? She's scared of her own shadow."

Anders shook his head vigorously. "It's still not right," he insisted. "Blood magic is used at the pleasure of a demon, a demon that the mage has actually conversed with and offered something in return for that knowledge. We may not be able to see the demon, but it's always there."

"Anders…don't you think you're being a bit hypocritical?" asked Hawke with a furrowed brow. "I've seen you do things that you couldn't possibly do without Justice. Sometimes he uses magic through you that I've never seen before, and which certainly wouldn't be sanctioned by the Chantry. What's the difference between that and blood magic?"

"Justice is not a demon! That's the difference, Hawke!" Anders pointed out, his eyes hardening at Hawke's unconvinced expression.

"Well, I've met benevolent spirits of the fade before, and they certainly wouldn't have done what he did to those templars at the chantry when we went to rescue Karl."

"They deserved it!" spat Anders.

"Deserved to be turned inside out? What for? Doing their jobs?" demanded Hawke.

Anders didn't even try to hide his astonishment. "I can't believe that you of all people are defending the Templars! If they'd succeeded, I would now be tranquil and you and your sister would be locked up in The Gallows!"

"I know that, Anders, and I know _they_ attacked _us_; I'm not arguing with you there, but Justice reduced them to piles of bloody, quivering goo! Are you telling me they deserved that for doing their duty?"

"Look," said Anders impatiently, "obviously you didn't see what went on at the Circle Tower, but…"

"Precisely; I didn't. That event has coloured your perceptions of blood magic, Anders, just as Fenris's enslavement has coloured his perceptions of mages."

Anders rolled his eyes and folded his arms tightly. "Now I see. I was wondering why you'd brought this up out of the blue."

"Aren't I right, though, Anders? You have your prejudices, as does Fenris, and all because of a single person or event. I'm not necessarily advocating blood magic, but what I'm trying to say is that not all blood mages are evil incarnate, and I will be having a similar discussion with Fenris to convince him that _you _are not evil incarnate just because you're host to a spirit."

Anders finished his pint off and regarded Hawke sceptically as he continued.

"There are enough mages running around Kirkwall giving the rest of us a bad name, Anders. Let us be the ones who set an example to others. Show Fenris, and everyone else, that we're good people who just happen to have unique abilities."

"All right, Hawke, I'll give it a try," Anders agreed with a sigh, "but what if the elf doesn't agree?"

"Then that's up to him, Anders. If he wants to let bitterness rule him, that's his choice and nothing to do with _us_." He offered his hand to Anders. "We mages must stick together."

Anders shook Hawke's hand and grinned. "Agreed. I'll do my part, for you, but if he's unreasonable, or keeps calling me an abomination…"

"Then at least you can say you tried."

Anders nodded and stood up, a lop-sided grin on his face. "You should have been a politician. Another?" he offered, pointing to the bar.

"Not for me, thanks, Anders; I had a bit of wine earlier on. Well, a lot, actually."

Anders wandered over to the bar to order his second pint, and Hawke watched the entrance to the pub carefully. Varric and Bethany should be arriving soon, and hopefully, Fenris would also be with them. The thought of Fenris being stuck on his own in that creepy mansion was as disturbing to Hawke as was the thought of Anders living in the rat-infested shit pit that was Darktown. He hoped, albeit somewhat optimistically, that Anders and Fenris would become friends, and resolved to do his best to make that happen.

No sooner had Anders joined him back at the table, than Varric and Bethany arrived with Fenris in tow. Hawke stood and invited them all to sit, pulling out the chair next to Anders for the elf. Fenris looked uncomfortable for a moment before taking a seat, not wishing to appear rude. Hawke called for some wine to be brought over and took his own seat.

"Thank you for coming, Fenris; I appreciate it was short notice, but something urgent has come up." Fenris nodded once and Hawke leaned across the table, lowering his voice. "We've been asked to locate a young boy who's gone missing. Normally, I wouldn't get involved in anything like this, but…well, these are special circumstances."

"The dwarf explained these…circumstances," Fenris began, and Anders shifted in his seat, but took a deep breath and kept quiet. "It is my understanding that the boy may be possessed. If that is so, he must be neutralised immediately."

"_Neutralised_?" Anders cut in. "What do you…"

"Our main priority is to locate the boy and ascertain his status," Hawke interjected. "Only then can we decide what is to be done."

"There is only one thing _to _be done," insisted Fenris. "This must be brought to the attention of the Templar Order. It is _they _who should decide the best course of action, not us."

Anders' mouth fell open. "The best course of action? Those bastards will make him tranquil first, and ask questions later!"

"That _would_ be prudent," said Fenris.

Anders swivelled round to face Fenris, his face red, but was silenced when Hawke grabbed his arm. "There are special reasons for not involving the Templars," said Hawke, keeping a tight grip on Anders' sleeve. "The boy would run a mile from them, but may respond better to fellow mages."

"Fellow _apostates_, you mean," replied Fenris.

"That's right," Hawke answered, holding Fenris' gaze. "Are you in, or not?"

"I insisted upon being 'in' as soon as I was apprised of the situation. At least with me here, any actions you take might not be completely one-sided, and tempered with common sense."

"Good," answered Hawke, speaking quickly to pre-empt an outburst from Anders. "This is what needs to be done: Anders and I managed to speak to the boy's father before he closed shop for the night. He told us that a former templar named Samson would have information. I need the two of you," he glanced at Fenris and Varric, "to speak to him and learn what you can. He sounds a bit shady though, so watch yourselves."

"You will not be accompanying us?" asked Fenris.

"As you so adroitly pointed out, we're apostates," Anders said, rolling his eyes. "Why would we make ourselves known to a templar, former or otherwise?"

"And from what I hear," Varric added, "this guy would sell his own mother for a pinch of lyrium dust, so we can't be too careful, can we, Sunshine?" he asked with a glance at Bethany, who shook her head and smiled at him.

"The Templars have already tried to lay a trap for Anders," she explained. "They're crafty, and we don't trust any of them."

Fenris nodded but looked puzzled. "If they are after you," he said to Anders, "why do they not simply arrest you, and be done with it?"

"We don't think any of the templars who were after me in the first place survived," Anders answered.

Fenris sat upright in his chair. "You…killed them?"

"We had no choice," answered Hawke. "They were ready and waiting for us and had used one of Anders's friends as a lure."

"They'd made him tranquil for no reason whatsoever other than to lure us there!" Anders added heatedly.

Fenris raised a slightly sceptical eyebrow. "Your so-called friend aided the templars, then?"

Anders shot to his feet and Hawke followed. "Anders…"

"He had no choice but to aid them! They took a decent man and turned him into one of their puppets!"

"Fenris, whatever your feelings are about mages," Hawke added, "the templars broke the law by making him tranquil. He was no blood mage, no abomination. He was a harrowed mage who happened to be friends with Anders."

"So, you released him once the templars were defeated?" asked Fenris.

Anders pulled out a small knife from inside his coat and pointed it at Fenris. "No. I killed him. With_ this_ knife."

"You _killed_ your _friend_?" Fenris asked in horror.

"He begged me to!" protested Anders, his voice trembling. "I would rather be dead than be made tranquil! I don't expect _you _to understand that, Elf." The knife clattered noisily on the table as Anders threw it down and stormed out of the pub.

"He's still upset about it," Bethany said quietly.

"Clearly," Fenris said pithily.

Hawke cleared his throat. "Excuse me."

He found Anders outside, leaning against a wall with his arms folded. Hawke stopped a few feet away and leaned on the wall beside him. For a few moments, neither spoke.

"So much for 'Anders being nice to Fenris', eh?" Anders said with a slightly bitter laugh.

"Oh, I don't know," replied Hawke. "You _could _have thrown the knife at _him_, but instead you threw it at the table. There's hope, yet!"

Anders turned to him and half-smiled. "Always the optimist, eh, Hawke?" His smile faded and he moved a little closer to Hawke. "Are you sure about this, Hawke? Sending him to talk to an ex-templar? He could turn us all in, you know."

"He could, couldn't he?" answered Hawke with a waggle of his eyebrows.

"Is this why you're bringing him along with us? To test him?"

"I can't work with someone I don't trust, Anders. I trust Varric and I _sort _of trust you," he joked, and Anders laughed. "This ex-templar's a complete wreck by the sound of it; he's the best chance we have to prove that Fenris won't betray us. After we've spoken to the templar, we can have him tracked to see if he tries anything; I doubt he'll even notice. I just want you to know that, although I do want Fenris to work with us, I'm not ignoring your concerns."

"Thanks, Hawke. I'm glad you listen to at least some of the things I say."

"Some," Hawke replied with a wink at his friend. "Fuck me, Anders, my head hurts," he said, clutching his forehead. "You know, you should make friends with Fenris for his wine, if nothing else. He gave me a bottle earlier. Nearly took my bloody head off, it did."

Anders shook his head. "It usually _does_ if you drink it all in one go, Hawke."

"I take exception to that remark," said Hawke airily.

"Well, you can still form cogent sentences; you're not too far gone, yet."

A lull took the conversation once again, and Hawke ventured a sideways glance at Anders. "You know something, Anders? You were right. Those templars deserved everything they got. Maybe Justice was a bit heavy-handed, but…"

"Eh? I thought you said they were only doing their duty?"

"They weren't though, were they?" Hawke answered with a sigh. "They abused their position and turned an innocent mage tranquil. I'm sorry, Anders; I forgot about poor Karl, and how much he meant to you."

A soft smile graced Anders' face, and he sighed. "Yes, poor Karl. He was a good friend."

"You know what we need?" asked Hawke. "A good night out. How about tomorrow we dig into our funds a little and treat ourselves?"

"_Treat _ourselves?" Anders asked amusedly. "I take it you're not planning on a night at The Hanged Man, then?"

"Absolutely not," Hawke replied with a knowing wink.

"You're on!" Anders agreed.

At that moment, Varric exited the pub and made a beeline for the two mages. "There you both are. Listen, I just heard something that may interest the two of you; there could be money in it, as well."

"I'm all ears," said Hawke.

"Well, apparently some templar recruits have been going missing; about half a dozen so far. The Templars are at a loss to explain it."

Hawke and Anders exchanged a puzzled glance. "Why would _we_ care about disappearing templars, Varric?" asked Anders. "The fewer of them around, the better!"

Varric lowered his voice. "Look; it's a poorly-kept secret in Kirkwall that certain templars know of certain apostates who do certain _things_ for them. I've known a couple of mages over the years that've done work for the templars, and the Chantry has deep pockets."

Hawke shook his head. "If you're suggesting that we work against mages…"

"How are you working against mages, here? You could do a service for the templars, they pay you, and they keep you 'in mind' for another time. What that means in real terms is that they might stop knocking on Blondie's door, and that the two of you and Sunshine could relax a little."

"He has a point, Anders," Hawke agreed. "What do you think?"

Anders folded his arms. "I have no problem taking money from the Chantry, but I won't go against my own kind to do so."

"Neither will I," insisted Hawke.

"Great!" Varric chirped. "How about this: after we've spoken to that Samson guy, I take the elf across to The Gallows, see what we can find out, and the three of you follow up on the missing kid. Whad'ya say?"

"Sounds like a fine plan," Hawke said, shaking Varric's hand.

~o~O~o~

The three mages stayed at The Hanged Man while Varric and Fenris went to see Samson, returning a short time later.

Varric leaned casually against a table, cleaning his nails with a dagger. "Our boy's looking for a way out of the Free Marches, but didn't have enough coin to book passage. That templar put him in touch with some people who may be able to smuggle him out for free."

"I have heard of such operations before," Fenris added with a scowl. "The victims are promised safe passage to a destination of their choosing, and are then sold into slavery. There can be no further delay in locating the boy."

"Oh, I'm heartened to see you take such an interest in his welfare all of a sudden!" sniped Anders. "Aren't you forgetting something? He's an abomination and must be _neutralised_."

"All right! That's enough out of you two!" demanded Hawke. "Whatever the reasons, we need to find him _fast_. Any leads, Varric?"

"Yeah. There's an abandoned warehouse at the docks which is being used as a staging area."

"The docks?" Hawke asked dubiously. "That's nowhere _near _The Gallows, is it?"

Varric shrugged. "It could be a load of horsecrap for all I know. I think the guy would have told us anything for some lyrium."

Anders laughed. "Hey! You should have offered to let him lick Fenris!"

Fenris's top lip curled in disgust and he positioned himself directly in front of Anders. "Any who attempt it will expire before they reach the ground, Mage."

"Anyway, we're headed for the docks as well, Hawke," chortled Varric. "Don't worry; we'll protect you from the _bad templar men, _Hawke."

"Kiss my hairy arse, Dwarf," Hawke said in reply, and they set off for the docks in good spirits, all except Fenris, who shook his head and muttered under his breath as they left.

~o~O~o~

While Hawke and his magi companions investigated the warehouse, Fenris and Varric took the boat over to The Gallows, which looked even more ominous than usual, its silhouette thrown into sharp relief against the golds and violets of the setting sun behind it.

"So, this is where the mages reside," remarked Fenris as they disembarked. "Well, _most_ of them, anyway."

"Yeah, not very homely, is it? Could do with a splash of colour here and there," offered Varric.

"It is the best place for them."

Varric frowned. "Come on, Elf; that's a little harsh, don't you think?"

Fenris shook his head gravely. "You would agree, had you seen the things I have."

"This is not the Imperium, buddy," Varric stated, "and the mages here are not Magisters."

"But there are apostates, blood mages," Fenris argued. "The one who travels with you, the one you call 'Blondie', is possessed!"

"Blondie? Possessed? Don't make me laugh!" chuckled Varric. "He's a little mixed up, sure, but that kid's as soft as putty." He glanced around. "Just don't mention the _Templars_, that's all."

As if on cue, two templars approached them and blocked their path. "What's your business at The Gallows, Dwarf, Elf?" asked one of them.

"Well, Human, Human," replied Varric, looking them up and down, "we're here to trade with some of your tranquil merchants."

"At this hour?"

"Oh, I'm sorry; have they all gone to beddy-byes?"

The templar on the left folded his arms. "All right, smart mouth. Be quick, though, and don't get distracting the recruits. I've seen you here before; you could talk the hind legs off a donkey."

Varric flashed his most charming smile. "I think you'll find the word is _ass_."

Fenris turned away and started coughing.

"Go on through, then," said the templar.

"Come on, Elf; hey, are you ok?"

"I am, Dwarf," he answered, and, as he turned to join Varric, his lips quivered slightly.

"So, that's how elves laugh, huh?"

"Laugh? As you insult an authority figure? Certainly not."

"So, he has a sense of humour, after all!" Varric paused as they approached one of the stalls and turned to Fenris, his expression becoming more serious. "Listen, Elf. Hawke, Blondie and Sunshine? They're friends of mine. You seem like a good guy and all, but I need to know now if you intend to rat them out to the Templars."

Fenris looked at Varric thoughtfully. "I assume by 'ratting them out' you mean will I inform the Templars of their status as apostates?"

"That's exactly what I mean." Varric's voice was steady, but his expression was hard.

Fenris shook his head. "It is not my place."

"Good answer, Elf," said Varric, and, without thinking, he slapped Fenris's back. Fenris stiffened and stopped for a moment, then continued walking.

"Sorry, did I startle you?"

"No, it's all right."

Varric grinned to himself, and, looking around to make sure none of the other templars were watching, he approached a small group of recruits who stood chatting in a corner.

~o~O~o~

Later that evening, the five met up yet again at the Hanged Man as previously arranged, and exchanged information.

Hawke produced a slip of paper he'd found at the warehouse and placed it down on their table. "I'm afraid your suspicions were correct, Fenris." He pushed the document toward the elf, who glanced at it briefly.

"So I see," said Fenris, looking uncomfortable.

Hawke's gaze lingered on him for a moment and he frowned, before he took the document back. "Well, erm, as it says on here, money has changed hands for 'cargo', namely one blond, half-elven youth. As Fenris predicted, the boy has been sold into slavery." He ran his finger down to the bottom of the document. "This bill of sale originated from a den in Darktown; that's our next stop."

"We found this, as well," said Bethany, producing a handwritten letter. "We came across a poor girl who was being attacked by some men. She turned into an abomination and we were forced to kill her."

"_Poor girl_?" Fenris commented derisively. "She turns into an abomination and attacks you, and you feel pity for her?"

"Why, yes," Bethany answered. "She was obviously desperate to resort to that."

"The letter is addressed to her father," Hawke cut in. "A templar at The Gallows named Thrask."

Fenris shook his head and laughed mockingly. "It gets better and better! A man who is charged with protecting the public conceals the fact his own daughter is one of the creatures he is meant to hunt down! The hypocrisy is staggering."

Anders leaned across the table and bristled. "What in the Maker's name is wrong with you? We've got to tell the poor man his daughter is dead! Don't you care about that?"

Hawke narrowed his eyes at Fenris. "Well, obviously we won't be asking _you _to deliver the news. Varric, can I leave that to you?"

"Sure thing, Hawke," Varric replied, pocketing the letter with a sigh.

"What did you learn about the templar recruits?" Hawke asked.

A small smirk crossed Varric's lips. "Well, almost every one of them is a regular patron at the Blooming Rose…"

Hawke and Anders exchanged a glance and sniggered.

"…I see you boys are already familiar with _that _particular establishment," Varric noted.

"What's the Blooming Rose?" Bethany asked innocently.

"A club of sorts, my dear," Varric answered. "Not the kind of place for you to visit."

"That's right," Hawke concurred sternly.

"Hmph. I _see_," Fenris commented as Bethany's brow wrinkled in confusion.

"Anyway," continued Varric, "the latest recruit to go missing is a young kid named Keran. Apparently even the knight-captain has had no joy getting any information, but we might have more luck, being as none of us are templars. I guess I won't need to ask for volunteers?" he asked drily.

"Actually, Anders and I were, erm, planning to visit…_Hightown_ tomorrow night," Hawke said helpfully. "It's a bit of a bind, but we _could _bring our plans forward, you know, to help the poor templars out."

"_Anything _to help the poor templars!" Anders chirped, already rising from his seat.

"_Disgraceful_," Fenris spat.

"I know, but what can you do?" laughed Hawke as he followed Anders out. "You're welcome to join us, Fenris; my treat!"

Fenris didn't need to reply: his expression spoke a thousand words, each one of them biting.

"So, I guess _we'll _check out Darktown, then?" Varric called after them.

"Oh, would you?" asked Hawke, as Anders's hand grabbed his arm and yanked him through the door. "…Thank you!"

~o~O~o~

Fenris, his spirits buoyed after slaughtering several slavers in Darktown, waited outside the Blooming Rose with Varric and Bethany after finding no sign of Hawke or Anders at The Hanged Man.

"What's taking them so long in there?" Bethany asked impatiently.

"They're obviously conducting a _thorough_ investigation," Fenris surmised sourly through gritted teeth.

"Hold up; I'll go get them," Varric offered, and he entered the building, leaving Fenris and Bethany to share an awkward silence.

"Excuse me, Miss," said a gruff voice from behind them, and Bethany stepped aside to let the man pass.

"Uncle!" she exclaimed.

"_Bethany_!" spluttered Gamlen, his eyes almost bulging out of his head. "I, erm…what-what brings you here?"

"We're waiting for Fletcher and Anders. What are _you _doing here?"

"I, um, I just fancied a walk, that's all."

"At _midnight_?" Fenris sneered, arching an eyebrow.

"Y-yes, well, there are fewer people about," Gamlen claimed.

"You _are_ a strange one, Uncle," Bethany commented as the doors to the Blooming Rose flew open, and a giggling Anders and Hawke spilled out.

"Like fucking _udders_ they were, Varric!" Anders said loudly, making a 'squeezing' gesture with his hands. "I gave them a good milk…_Bethany_!" Anders's face dropped as he spotted Hawke's sister. "I-I…I'm sorry, Bethany." Varric folded his arms and shook his head.

"Uncle!" Hawke blundered over to Gamlen and swallowed him in a hug. Gamlen pushed him away and wrinkled his nose.

"You're drunk!" he accused. "Whatever would your mother say?"

"I'm sure she'd be delighted to hear that her family are out on the town together," Hawke said pointedly. "At the same _place_."

"As I explained to your sister, I was out for a stroll."

Anders and Hawke fell about laughing at his preposterous claim.

"And I suppose_ you _were in there just for a friendly drink?" snapped Gamlen.

"Me, Uncle? No, I went in there for a quick fuck."

"Brother, really!" Bethany huffed, her face reddening.

"Come on, Hawke; there are ladies present," Varric scolded.

"Yes, I'm sorry, Sister," said Hawke with an appealing look at Bethany, who rolled her eyes. "Well, Uncle Gamlen, don't let us keep you from your…stroll."

Gamlen cleared his throat and straightened his posture, his eyes flitting towards the door. "Yes, well…don't you have somewhere to be?"

"No."

"Fine," growled Gamlen as he stomped away.

"Oh, Uncle?" Hawke called after him. "The next time you go for a stroll, I highly recommend Angus as a _walking companion_. He's very…_flexible_."

"And he'll go as far as you like! On your _stroll_, that is," Anders joined in. Gamlen shot them one final withering glance, and headed toward Lowtown.

"Ok, fellas," Varric said to the still-laughing pair. "What did you find out about the missing templars?"

In unison, their faces fell and they stopped laughing. "Erm…about that…" Hawke began, scratching his head. "We were _going _to, but the funniest thing happened…"

"You didn't even ask, did you?" Fenris bit out. "I've heard enough. _I _shall find out." He pushed past Hawke and entered the brothel, letting the door slam behind him.

"I blame myself," Varric said quietly. "I should never have let the two of you loose in there! I'm going to have to confiscate your money, next time."

"Sorry Dad," Hawke said ruefully, and he and Anders once again started sniggering.

"Are you two in any state to help rescue that kid? We know where he is now, and the elf insists that we go as soon as possible."

"Of course!" Anders said indignantly. "I feel like walking on air!"

"And I'll go anywhere with you, dear friend." Hawke wrapped an arm around Varric's shoulders, who groaned in defeat. "Just don't ask me to sit down for a while, that's all."

A short time later the door to the Blooming Rose was flung open, and Fenris stalked out. "Darktown," he said bluntly.

"What about Darktown?" asked Hawke.

"That is where we need to go."

"And who told you that?"

"A whore. She attempted to use a mind control technique on me. She did not succeed," he said with a cold smile.

"What?" asked Anders, his eyes darting between Fenris and Hawke.

"She was a blood mage," Fenris explained haughtily. "But no more."

Anders lurched forward. "You can't just…!"

Varric grabbed Anders by the arm and began to pull him away. "Perhaps we'd better make skedaddle plans, Blondie, before somebody finds her?"

"You _killed_ her?" Hawke asked Fenris in dismay, suddenly feeling quite sober.

"I did, before she killed me," Fenris answered calmly as he walked away.

"Did she even _try_ to kill you?" asked Hawke accusingly.

"_Yes_," answered Fenris in a scathing tone. "I do not simply go around murdering mages, despite what you and your friends may think."

"Nobody suggested that, Fenris," said Bethany.

"_I_ did!" Anders barked at the elf, before being pushed along by Varric.

"Enough pissing around! Let's go!" ordered Varric.

Hawke stood still for a moment with his head in his hands. Bethany placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "I don't think those two are ever going to get on, Brother. It was a nice thought, though."

Hawke uncovered his face and took one of Bethany's hands in his. "Don't ever change, Sister. At least let there be one normal person in our little group."

"I promise," she said with a smile, which quickly faded as she glanced down at her hand. "Fletcher…you _did_ wash your hands before you left, didn't you?"

"I don't remember," he said in a sly tone. "I _have _had a few, you know."

"Fletcher!" She tried to remove her hand from his, but he tightened his grip.

"My hand appears to be stuck to yours, Sister. For some reason."

"You're a _terrible_ man!" she squealed, and tried to extricate herself by running ahead, but Hawke jogged alongside her, both of them laughing, and Bethany squirming, as they caught up to the others.


	6. Chapter 6

Having determined that the boy, Feynriel, was being held at a location outside of Kirkwall, a fuzzy-headed Hawke and his eclectic group of companions decided to investigate the missing templars en route, and made their way to Darktown.

Unfortunately, though, this did not turn out to be the short detour they'd hoped for: as they neared the location provided by Idunna, the blood mage that Fenris had killed at the Blooming Rose, they were attacked by several undead creatures and abominations, the appearance of which had caused a panic among the residents of the Undercity.

As the charming Varric helped settle the stricken folk of Darktown, an agitated Fenris paced back and forth as he and the others waited for the dwarf to return.

"Is this what it means to work alongside mages?" he muttered to no one in particular, although he had the mages' full attention. "When we scoured Danarius's mansion, we were beset by abominations and inhabitants of the Fade. And now, as we investigate a flimsy account of missing templars, once again these…these creatures seem to be drawn to us!"

He turned to face Anders, Hawke and Bethany. "Do you people attract them? Are they made flesh by your connection to their realm?"

"Of course they're attracted to us," Hawke said matter-of-factly, folding his arms. "We're mages. We, however, did not summon them. The creatures that appeared in Danarius's mansion were summoned by him or one of his lackeys. As for the creatures here…"

"_More_ blood mages are here, then," Fenris said heavily.

"Danarius is a blood mage?" asked Bethany.

"Yes," Fenris growled, and then softened his voice, not wishing to be impolite to a lady, mage or not. "The most powerful magisters all practice blood magic; it is in their interests to do so, for those who do not acquire such power are usually short-lived."

"You must have seen some terrible things," Anders commented, and Bethany and Hawke shot an incredulous glance at each other.

Surprised at his statement, Fenris looked at Anders warily, and considered his answer. "I have witnessed horrors you cannot possibly imagine, nor would I ever wish you to; any of you." He shook his head and stared at the ground. "I have no doubt that many mages have good intentions, but blood magic is a cancer that consumes them from the inside out and leaves nothing but an empty shell, waiting to be inhabited by the demon they bargained with."

"Couldn't agree with you more," Anders stated. "If that woman at the Blooming Rose really _was_ a blood mage, then you did us all a favour. I, erm…I may have overreacted a bit to that. I do that sometimes, so I've been told," he admitted with a quick glance at Hawke.

A small smile crept along Bethany's face, but Hawke shifted his weight and fiddled with his belt distractedly. Detecting his discomfort, she took a step forward, addressing Anders and Fenris. "It's nice to see the two of you finally agreeing on something."

"Well, make the most of it, Bethany," replied Anders, grinning. "It won't last long."

"Undoubtedly," Fenris agreed with a neutral expression.

"Here's Varric," said Hawke, glad of the opportunity to change the subject to anything other than blood magic.

"Panic's over, folks," announced the dwarf. "I told them all to stay back and that we'd take care of the skeletons and...things." He grinned up at Bethany. "Several of the men shook my hand, and one lady even gave me a kiss," he boasted, stroking his left cheek.

"Did she really?" asked Bethany, leaning down a little. "Well, here's a matching one for you." She placed a chaste peck on his right cheek and straightened up; Varric chuckled to himself and flushed slightly.

"Sister," Hawke teased in a stern tone. "Kindly conduct yourself in a manner befitting a lady."

"Oh, like the manner in which you and Anders conducted yourselves in Hightown?"

"She's got you there, fellas," Varric pointed out, and Hawke rolled his eyes before winking at his sister.

"Only _we're_ not ladies," Anders quipped. "Although _Angus _may disagree on that in your case, wouldn't you say, Hawke?"

"I'm sure I don't know _what _you mean, Anders."

"Let us not tarry," Fenris cut in. "We must seek out these blood mages without further delay."

"After you, my good elf," invited Varric, and the other four followed the warrior down to the lower levels.

Hawke and Bethany dropped back a little. "Do you get the feeling that things are going a little too well?" Hawke asked his sister, frowning.

"How do you mean, Brother?"

"Well, Anders and Fenris actually _agreed_ on something, you snogged Varric…"

"I did not_ snog_ him!"

"Huh. Makes me wonder: if you're prepared to do that in _public_, then what do you get up to when I'm not around?"

"_Hightown_," Bethany said pointedly.

Hawke cast a sour glance toward her. "You get _one _more use of that word tonight, and then we're even!"

"One more? I'll remember that, Brother," she laughed. "Although I reserve the right to use it infinite times in front of Uncle Gamlen."

"On that, dear sister, you have my blessing."

"Hawke!" Varric frantically called from up ahead, and Hawke's head snapped up in time to see Varric place himself between Anders, who stood in a doorway with his back to them, and Fenris, who had stopped dead and was reaching for his sword.

"What's going on?" asked Hawke as he ran to join them.

"It's Blondie!" Varric hissed, pointing to Anders, who remained facing away from them in the doorway, his hands braced against the walls. "He's doing that…_glowing_ thing he did in the chantry!"

"His demon has shown itself," snarled Fenris, gripping his huge sword in readiness.

"Put that away!" Hawke commanded in a harsh whisper, pushing Fenris's sword down.

"And leave myself defenceless against a demon?"

"That is a Spirit of Justice," Hawke explained quietly, so Anders could not hear. "If you attack it, it will consider it _just _to defend itself, and believe me, Fenris, you're much better looking with your skin on the right way round!"

"He's right, Elf," Varric counselled. "Seriously, do as he says."

"He _won't _attack you without provocation," Hawke promised. "_Please_," he urged, gritting his teeth.

As Fenris and Hawke stared each other down, Varric cautiously walked over to Anders. Bethany stayed back.

"Fenris, I'm asking you to trust me," Hawke said in a grave tone.

"I hardly know you," replied Fenris. "Am I to take the word of…"

"Just do as I say," implored Hawke, grabbing Fenris's arms. The elf froze, his eyes bulging and his breathing quickening.

"I-I'm sorry," said Hawke, immediately releasing Fenris from his grip. "I didn't mean to…"

Fenris gulped and took a step back, his eyes still locked with Hawke's, the colour having drained from his face.

"Brother!" Bethany urged, pointing behind Hawke. He turned and started as he came face-to-face with Justice, who stood behind him.

"I will not harm you," Justice told Fenris in a booming voice. "Save your weapon for the minions of the Void that await us up ahead."

"Put it _away_," Hawke repeated, and this time, Fenris complied. Feeling humiliated at his show of vulnerability, however, his expression hardened and he cast a deadly glance at Justice.

"I am watching you, Spirit," he warned.

"Do what you will," replied Justice, apparently unconcerned. "Come," he ordered, walking back over to the doorway. "Foul creatures of the Fade are abroad. We must purge this realm of their loathsome influence."

"Sounds just dandy, Justice," Varric remarked, raising his eyebrows at the others, as they followed the spirit through the doorway and onto a landing with some steps leading down to yet another level of Darktown. Several makeshift beds and meagre belongings lay strewn about, having been hastily abandoned by the panicked residents.

"See there," commanded Justice, pointing downward as they stopped on the landing. His companions moved forward, keeping their distance from the spirit, and looked down.

"What in the Maker's name is _that_?" exclaimed Hawke, his mouth hanging open.

On the lower level below them, a young man hung suspended in mid-air, his body curled into the foetal position. A fine mist curled upward from the ground in a spiral, surrounding the young man; it moved very slowly and occasionally flickered with unnatural light.

"A vessel, awaiting inhabitation," explained Justice. "Perhaps we are not too late," he mused thoughtfully.

"Is he alive?" asked Bethany.

"He lives," Justice answered, and began to descend the steps, leaving the others to share uncertain glances. Fenris pushed ahead, positioning himself between Justice and the others as they followed the spirit down. Justice noticed this, and looked at Fenris approvingly. "With me, brave elf," he said, stalking ahead. "We are of a kind, you and I."

Fenris stopped dead. "We are nothing alike, Spirit!"

Justice slowed and turned his head to face the elf. "You are a warrior who seeks to protect the weak, are you not? You would protect your dear ones?"

"They are not my _dear ones_," Fenris said with a scowl, noticing from the corner of his eye that Hawke was trying to get his attention, "although I _will_ protect them, yes, from _all _manner of creatures." His eyes lingered on Justice for a moment, and then moved to where Hawke stood.

"Maker's sake, Fenris, just agree with him!" Hawke communicated, sotto voce.

Fenris's scowl deepened, but he remained silent and caught up to Justice, who stood examining the trapped young man.

"Fletcher," Bethany whispered to her brother as they arrived next to Fenris, "do you think that man is a templar? With Justice here…"

"Shit!" Remembering his first encounter with Justice at the chantry, sudden panic gripped Hawke and he licked his lips. "Keep my sister safe," he ordered Varric.

"Brother! I'm not some…"

"Don't _argue_ with me, Sister." Bethany knew from his tone and hard look that there would be no reasoning with him.

"Come on, Sunshine; better do as big bro' says," said Varric, who discreetly removed Bianca from his back and touched Bethany's arm, gently guiding her to a safe distance. She sighed and reluctantly acquiesced.

"What manner of magic is this?" Fenris asked Hawke as he joined him.

Hawke shook his head. "I've no idea, Fenris; I've never seen anything like this before."

"Have you not?" asked Justice. "That is surprising."

"Why…why would it surprise you?" Hawke stammered, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable indeed under Justice's piercing gaze.

Without answering, Justice turned back to the magical field that surrounded the young man and closed his eyes, outstretching an arm. Fenris looked at Hawke briefly, pondering the spirit's words, but his attention was soon diverted as the field dissipated, and Hawke ran forward as the young man fell to the ground with a thud.

"Are you all right?" He knelt down and shook the young man's shoulder, who groaned and rolled over onto his back, his eyes snapping open, and he clutched at Hawke's arms in a panic.

"Mother! The lights!" he babbled.

"Shhh…it's all right; you're safe, now," Hawke said in a soothing voice, his eyes roaming over the handsome young man's bare chest. He then blinked and took a deep breath, scolding himself for having such thoughts.

He offered the lad a hand up, and helped him to his feet. "Are you…Keran?" he asked.

"Keran…yes, that's my name," he mumbled, bewildered. "Oh, thank the Maker! I thought he had abandoned me!"

"Just calm down," said Hawke. "What happened to you?"

"I-I don't know what they did to me…there were demons…my head…" He clutched his head and swayed; Hawke grabbed his shoulders.

"Clearly, he has succumbed," surmised Fenris, once again readying his sword.

"No," Justice countered, striding forward toward the terrified-looking recruit; Keran backed away quickly, almost stumbling over in his haste. "He is not possessed."

"We are to take _your_ word? How do we know you speak the truth?" Fenris demanded.

"I have stated as such; that is sufficient," Justice replied, dismissing Fenris' concerns. He then walked behind Keran and peered down a tunnel leading off the main chamber. "They approach. Elf, I require your immediate assistance." He then turned to Hawke. "You as well, Mage. It is safe for you, but the female must be protected from their influence."

Justice's grave tone prompted Fenris to unsheathe his sword but Hawke hesitated, feeling a surge of heat though his gut. He blinked several times and readied his staff, but his mind was elsewhere as four mages entered the chamber. Their leader, a woman wearing garish make-up, gasped upon spotting them and held her hand up for her companions to halt. Her eyes wandered over to the terrified Keran and she glowered at his liberators.

"Tarohne, I assume?" asked Hawke, her name having been supplied by Idunna.

"You dare disturb our vessel? He was almost ready!"

Justice stepped forward and Tarohne took a step back, uncertainty in her eyes. "The vessel was never yours to claim, Witch. How many more innocents have you beguiled?"

"Beguiled?" muttered Bethany under her breath. "Looking like _that_?" Varric chuckled and shook his head.

"Innocents? That," Tarohne said, pointing at Keran, "is a templar, one who would keep my fellows and I in bondage!"

Hawke quietly placed himself between the mages and Keran, watching for Justice's reaction.

"It matters not," Justice stated. "You have unjustly immured this man and kept him from his duties."

"His duties?" Tarohne screeched with a maniacal laugh. "His only duty from now on will be to sew chaos and discord among his peers; a demon among the Templar ranks will be catastrophic! Soon, the Order will crumble, and my kind will walk freely among the great and good of Thedas!"

Fenris stepped next to Justice and held his sword ready. "She is obviously insane. Let us slay her and be done with this."

"No!" commanded Justice. "It would not be just to slay her, as _she_ has slain no one. Stay your hand, Elf."

"It wouldn't be _just_?" Fenris asked in astonishment. "Who cares for what is just? These are blood mages who have attempted to infiltrate demons into the Templar ranks! They must be stopped!"

"They _will_ be stopped," promised Justice, turning back to Tarohne. "You will yield and surrender yourselves to the Templars, as is just and right, as you intended to bring harm upon their Order."

Hawke's mouth gaped in astonishment, and even Fenris, who approved of such an action, frowned, confused.

Tarohne threw her head back and cackled. "Good! The demons like spirit!" She and her minions readied their staves and advanced on Justice and Fenris, who gritted his teeth and readied his own weapon.

"Silence, Witch," Justice uttered, and Hawke and Bethany felt a temporary disturbance in the Fade as radiant pools of light surrounded Tarohne and her companions, slowing their movements until they finally stopped, frozen like statues.

"Templar," Justice barked at Keran, who had retreated to the far side of the chamber. "Clothe yourself and summon your masters. Apprise them of what has occurred here."

Keran stayed where he was and looked nervously at Hawke.

"It's all right, Keran. Return to The Gallows and report to the knight-captain," Hawke said gently.

"He knows of me," Varric said, approaching them with Bethany at his side. "I helped him out with Wilmod. Tell him Varric's friends have found the culprits."

"I-I…" Keran looked around for his clothes, finding them in a crumpled heap in a corner. He quickly began to dress. Once fully clothed, he tentatively walked nearer to Hawke, his eyes fixed on Justice. "What-what _are _you?" he asked, his eyes wide.

"He saved your life, Keran," Hawke told him, "and quite probably your job. I don't think you need to mention him in your report, do you?"

"No…I won't, I promise," said Keran. "Th-thank you."

"Are you going to be all right?" Hawke asked.

"Yes; I'll go right away. Will-will your spell last until we return?" he asked Justice.

"It will last until it is broken by one of your brethren," Justice answered. "Have a care when doing so."

Keran nodded rapidly, and quickly made his way toward the steps leading up. "Goodbye, and thank you again."

"Take care, Keran," Hawke said, watching the recruit as he departed.

"All right, pervert; you can stop ogling the templar, now."

Hawke gasped and spun around. "Anders? Is that you? You're back?"

Anders frowned a little and nodded.

"Are you all right? Do you remember anything?"

Anders glanced over at the frozen blood mages. "Yes, I think so…it's coming back to me, now."

"Anders, I'm confused. I thought Justice hated the Templars? After what happened in the chantry…"

"No, Hawke, you're wrong. Justice hates injustice; what happened at the chantry was unjust, and what happened here was unjust."

"But what he did to those templars…"

"They tried to kill us, Hawke. I heard you warning Fenris not to attack him, so I think you know that already. The blood mages didn't attack us, or rather they didn't get a chance to; it would have been unjust to attack them without cause."

"You heard me speaking to Fenris?"

Anders sighed. "Yes…I was aware of everything that was going on, I just couldn't…interact."

"You have no control over the spirit?" asked Fenris, his eyes narrowing.

"Well, no…he obviously deemed it necessary to appear; he must have sensed the blood mages."

"He can _sense _blood mages?" exclaimed Hawke, beads of sweat forming on his brow.

"Of course," explained Anders. "Each blood mage has a connection to a demon in the Fade; as a spirit, Justice resides partially in the Fade, and is aware of their presence." He stepped closer to Hawke. "Look, I've told you: he's a good spirit, and not a demon. I know he's capable of causing huge destruction, but that's because his powers are amplified through me. You may consider what happened at the chantry excessive, but it _was _just; you said so yourself, Hawke."

Hawke nodded distractedly, his eyes darting to Bethany; she held his gaze for a second, before averting her eyes.

"He likes _you_, Fenris," Anders said to the elf.

"He…_likes _me?"

"He thinks you're brave, and have strength of conviction." Fenris's nostrils flared in disgust, but he held his tongue.

"Should be interesting, having a third party in on their arguments," quipped Varric. "Well, it's getting late. Can this Feynriel kid wait until tomorrow?"

"No," said Fenris and Anders in unison.

"I was afraid of that," the dwarf grumbled, his shoulders slumping.

"Why don't you and Bethany call it a night?" Hawke suggested as his sister yawned. "If you walk her home, I'll give you the rest of the night off," he said with a wry smile.

"Such a good boss to have!" laughed Varric. "You have a deal. Sunshine, may I escort you home?"

Bethany yawned again. "Yes please, Varric. Will you three be all right without us?"

"Hey, with Justice around, I doubt Blondie needs _any_ of us. Come on," he said to Bethany, hooking his arm.

"Bethany, I'd like to speak to you for a moment," said Hawke quietly.

Varric nodded. "Any other takers?" he asked Fenris and Anders, offering his arm.

"No thank you," Fenris answered flatly, and Anders shook his head and laughed. The three of them walked ahead, giving Hawke and Bethany some privacy.

"What's wrong, Brother?"

Hawke watched the others and made sure they were out of earshot. "Justice knows."

"What? You mean…?"

Hawke nodded, his expression grim.

"Are you sure, Fletcher? How do you know?"

"Anders said Justice could sense blood mages, and Justice dropped a few hints of his own. It's bloody lucky that Fenris didn't pick up on them."

Bethany looked puzzled. "But…Anders doesn't seem to know, does he?"

"No, and that's what I don't understand. It's obvious that Justice can share his thoughts with Anders, or rather Anders can read them in some way; Anders knew that Justice admired Fenris, for example. So why hasn't he told Anders about me? Why would he keep that to himself?"

"Perhaps he feels it's not his place? That it would be unjust to reveal your secret? Perhaps he knows that you haven't used it for years; maybe he admires that?"

Hawke shook his head. "I don't know, Sister; I don't think I like the idea of Justice knowing and not Anders. I don't want Justice letting it slip at some inopportune moment."

"What are you going to do, then?"

"I'm going to have to tell him," Hawke said in a heavy tone.

The two of them continued on in silence for a few minutes.

"Shit," grumbled Hawke after a while. "I told you things were going too well, didn't I? There were even glimpses of Anders and Fenris getting on a bit; now, I might lose Anders as friend." He shook his head.

"Take heart, dear brother," said Bethany, slipping her arm around his. "I believe Anders to be a good man. He may be shocked at first, but if he's a true friend, he'll understand. You just have to explain that although you _are_ a blood mage, you turned your back on it several years ago."

"Oh, Bethany, don't you see? The very thing that caused Anders and Fenris to agree in the first place was that Fenris _killed_ a blood mage. He's not going to take it well."

Bethany squeezed her brother's arm, and, having no answer for him, the two of them walked on in silence.


	7. Chapter 7

_I'd just like to say thank you to all of you that have alerted or favourited this story, and especially to those who have taken the time to leave a review. Lovelyducking80, I did try to reply to your review to thank you, but got a message telling me that private messaging was disabled for you. So I'll say it here: Thank you! :-)_

~o~O~o~

"What's wrong with you two?" Anders asked Fenris and Hawke in an annoyingly chirpy voice. "You'd think someone had died!"

Hawke groaned and rubbed his right eye, which twitched; Fenris, stifling a yawn, ignored him. "We're tired, Anders," complained Hawke with a scowl. "You're far too jaunty for this time of day, or night, or whatever it is; stop it immediately or my staff is going to have an argument with your arse, and believe me, the staff will win."

Anders and Fenris's insistence that they waste no time in seeking out Feynriel had resulted in almost a three-hour journey from Darktown to the Wounded Coast, where they'd learned the boy was being held.

"But look at that sunrise over Sundermount!"

"Exactly; _sunrise_," Hawke grumbled. "I should be in bloody bed!"

"Justice thinks it's beautiful," Anders said, stopping to admire the sight, taking a deep lungful of the slightly-damp morning air.

"_Does_ he?" asked Hawke, intrigued. Fenris huffed and continued on.

Anders rolled his eyes and he and Hawke caught up to the elf. "Justice appreciates things the rest of us take for granted. Like that," he said, pointing to a small shrub at the side of the path.

"He likes plants?" Hawke asked.

"No…" Anders squatted down and pointed to a spider's web among the branches that glistened with beads of dew. "…That. Isn't it wonderful?"

In spite of the way he felt, Hawke couldn't help but laugh at the look of wonder on Anders' face. "I suppose it is."

"We waste time," snapped Fenris from up ahead. "If the boy has been transported to Tevinter to begin his life of servitude already, will your spirit find _that _beautiful?"

"All right, Mardy-Arse!" Anders grumped, straightening up. "We're coming!"

"Look on the bright side, Anders; he's no longer referring to Justice as a demon," Hawke said quietly.

"True!" Anders and Hawke resumed their trek behind Fenris, who had insisted on scouting ahead. "Hawke," whispered Anders. "You've been very quiet since we left Darktown, and don't tell me it's because you're tired. Is everything all right?"

Hawke felt his heart sink and he groaned. "No…everything's not all right, Anders. I-I need to talk to you about something."

"Uh-oh. Am I in trouble?" Anders asked, only half-joking.

"Trouble? No!" He scratched his thin beard and sighed. "Although _I_ might be…"

"Spit it out then, Hawke. It doesn't do to dwell on these things."

"Not here," Hawke mumbled, not meeting Anders' eyes. "Not in front of Fenris."

"Fair enough," replied Anders, secretly pleased that Hawke was willing to confide in him over the elf. "Maybe when we get back, then? When we've had some sleep."

"_Definitely_ when we've had some sleep." Hawke pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, defeat evident in his sagging shoulders.

"Come on, Hawke," Anders said, slipping an arm around his friend's back and giving his arm a squeeze. "It can't be that bad, surely?"

"Oh, Anders…"

"Actually, I think I already know," Anders said in a grave tone, removing his arm from around Hawke.

Hawke halted and looked at him anxiously. "You do?"

Anders grasped his chin and nodded sagely. "Well, you're only human, Hawke. If you're going to admit to me that you've finally given in to the craving, then I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you: you're just not my type. Although I suppose I _could_ manage a pity shag; just the once, mind, and I go on top."

Hawke's body shook, his nervous energy expended in an explosive burst of laughter. "Oh, all right, then. But _I_ have to insist on being top!"

"Well, in that case, forget it!" Anders chuckled, although his laughter didn't quite reach his eyes as he watched Hawke with concern. He sighed. "Whatever it is, my friend, we'll work something out, yes?"

Hawke didn't answer and stared straight ahead, his eyes glazed over. "Fenris," he said a moment later with a nod of his head.

The elf was crouched behind a large rock further up the path, and he beckoned to the mages. They quickly made their way over to him, stooping, and ducked behind the rock.

"What is it, Fenris?" Hawke asked.

"Over there."

Hawke peered over the rock, looking to the shore, and immediately ducked behind it again. "There's a ship," he said to Anders. "Looks like they're loading cargo."

"_Living _cargo," Fenris clarified.

Hawke looked over the top of the rock again and watched for a moment. "You're right," he whispered. "There are…half a dozen…most of which are elves. Their hands are bound. They're being led onto the ship."

"More preceded them," explained Fenris, frustration in his voice. "There are far too many for us to engage, and we may risk harming the abductees if we try."

"Have you counted the slavers?" asked Hawke.

Fenris nodded. "By my reckoning there are at least twenty crew members, but there could be more on board." He shook his head. "We _must_ aid them, but we will be of no use if we are slaughtered in the attempt."

"We could do with Justice's help," Hawke suggested.

Anders shook his head. "Justice is dormant; either he doesn't believe an injustice is being committed here, or…"

"How can you say that?" interrupted Fenris, his green eyes cold with fury. "Innocents are being abducted against their will! Or does his brand of so-called _justice_ only apply to _humans_?"

Anders' eyes flashed and his expression hardened. "As I was _going_ to say before you interrupted me, he may _also_ be exhausted! It takes a lot out of him to manifest himself, you know! He can't just appear when someone snaps their fingers!"

"I'm sorry, Anders, I didn't mean to suggest that Justice is at our beck and call," said Hawke.

Ignoring him, Anders continued berating Fenris. "And don't you accuse him of favouring one race over another! Justice acts for all!"

"This is getting us nowhere!" hissed Hawke. "I have an idea. Fenris, keep counting." He got onto all fours and started to crawl behind the rock face, heading closer to the ship.

"Where are you going?" asked Fenris.

Hawke looked back over his shoulder and grinned at the elf. "I'm going to give our slavers a little something to occupy them; they look bored, to me."

Anders grinned and bounced on his haunches as he squatted next to Fenris, excited to see what Hawke was going to do.

Once Hawke was satisfied he was in range, he paused for a few moments, watching the movements of the crew. Some of them appeared to be standing guard, but instead of paying attention as they should, they chatted among themselves, clearly not expecting any interference so early in the morning, and at such a remote location.

Taking a deep breath, Hawke slowly stood up and held his staff aloft, opening the Fade and calling flame into existence. In one fluid motion he thrust his staff forward, sending a huge fireball hurtling toward the ship's hull; it connected and the resulting explosion rocked the vessel.

Hawke threw himself down to the ground and glimpsed Fenris and a snickering Anders peering cautiously over the edge. He crawled back to them and crouched next to Fenris.

"They all just gawped for a second, and then their leader started barking orders at them!" Anders giggled.

Even Fenris looked amused. "Ha! See as they scurry about like ants!"

Hawke grinned, glad for a moment of levity. His eyes lingered on Fenris for a moment, noting how much younger the elf looked when he smiled; his eyes shone and the care he wore so heavily on his brow seemed to lift, softening his features. Fenris's eyes quickly flitted to Hawke's, having noticed his scrutiny, and Hawke immediately diverted his gaze back to the ship, feeling something stab at his gut.

"They're bringing the slaves off the ship," Anders announced, oblivious to the exchange.

"Of course they are," replied Fenris. "They are too valuable to be left to perish."

The three men watched as the ship's crew fought to extinguish the blaze. After the initial panic, the crew organised themselves and seemed to be winning the battle.

"Looks like we'll need another one, Hawke," said Anders.

"No…wait!" Fenris said with a note of excitement. "Look; one of the slaves has freed himself from his bonds!"

As Fenris pointed him out, sure enough, one of the male elves had loosened the rope around his wrists and let it fall onto the sand; he then moved to the elf in front of him, whispered something, and began to untie his bonds. The men who had been assigned to watch over them were far too engrossed with the burning ship to notice.

"Looks like we may have some allies," said Hawke, waggling his eyebrows.

"Look! They're all untying each other!" Anders held his breath as the elves discreetly aided each other, his eyes darting anxiously between them and their slaver guards. "Don't turn around…don't turn around."

As the blaze was finally put out, one of them did turn around toward the elves. Immediately, the elves' hands went behind their backs and some of them shuffled, kicking sand over the ropes they'd let fall to the ground.

"What are you waiting for?" Anders whispered impatiently. "Batter them!"

"They await an opening," Fenris answered him.

Hawke shot a glance at the elf. "Well, why don't we give them one?"

Fenris returned Hawke's look and the edge of his mouth quirked slightly. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well, I think that Anders and I should give those poor men something else to occupy themselves?" he suggested.

Anders grinned delightedly and crouched down on all fours, following Hawke as he crawled toward the shore once again. "Be ready, Fenris," Hawke quietly instructed the elf.

"I am always ready." Fenris hefted his sword from his back and followed the mages, moving as silently and elegantly as a cat.

Once at the bottom, Hawke held his hand aloft, signalling for Fenris to halt, and he beckoned Anders over to him. "Ready?"

"Ready, Hawke," Anders answered with a grim smile.

Hawke brazenly stepped out from the cover of the rocks, and, placing two fingers in his mouth, issued a high-pitched whistle. Several of the slavers spun round at the sound, and Anders laughed at the look of outrage of their faces as Hawke cheekily waved to them. Before the stunned slavers had had time to react, Hawke and Anders were already casting, and two further fireballs slammed into the ship.

Panic ensued and the slavers, not quite sure whether to attack the vandals or save their ship, scattered in disarray. The enslaved elves took immediate advantage and surged forward, some of them grabbing a fistful of sand and throwing it in their captors' faces. They still had the disadvantage of being unarmed, however, but Hawke immediately saw to that, placing a strong flame enchantment on the slavers' weapons, causing the men to shriek in pain and drop their swords and daggers.

A blue blur passed the two mages as they cast from a distance, and Anders gawked in astonishment. "That's…Fenris! Look at him!"

The glowing elf darted between the slavers, the shrill whistle of arcing metal piercing the morning air as several heads were cleaved from their shoulders in quick succession. Hawke watched, entranced, for a moment, until something else caught his eye: a blond elven lad, no older than eighteen, had become surrounded by four of his captors. Hawke pointed his staff toward them but didn't have time to act: the lad placed his hand over his eyes and the slavers were immediately sent hurtling several feet backwards.

"I think that's our boy, Anders."

As Fenris and the elves, with the aid of the young mage, seemed to be handling things on the ground, Anders and Hawke ran toward the burning ship and scrambled up the gangplank, where they remained, picking off those who remained on board and adding another couple of fireballs for good measure. When they were certain no one else remained on board they left the ship, which, as it was of poor make, was by now consumed by flames.

They grinned at each other at the sight that greeted them: the surviving slavers were now restrained with the same rope that had previously bound the elves. Several of the liberated elves approached them, offering their hands, and their thanks. Fenris stood far apart from them, and waved off any attempt at a handshake. Hawke noted this, having previously thought that Fenris only recoiled at _his _– a mage's -touch. As they neared the warrior, Hawke's face fell; Fenris was bathed in sweat and his normally-bronzed skin had taken on an ashen hue. His breathing appeared laboured and he occasionally winced.

Hawke quietly walked up to Fenris, leaving Anders to revel in the plaudits of the freed slaves and to taunt their captors.

"Fenris…are you feeling all right?" he ventured cautiously.

A flash of irritation crossed the elf's face and he closed his eyes, pushing one of his palms out toward Hawke. Hawke stopped and watched Fenris anxiously, once again feeling a pang deep in the pit of his stomach.

"Do you need healing?"

"No," Fenris answered abruptly, panting, his head snapping up. "I do not need, or want, your magic." Noticing Hawke's crestfallen expression, he hung his head and sighed. "It-it would not do any good, anyway. I just…I need a moment."

"Take as long as you need," said Hawke softly. He returned, frowning, to where Anders stood with the laughing elves and the scowling slavers. Anders had given some of the elves directions to the camps in Darktown, promising them a meal, if not plush accommodation, while some others decided to take their chances elsewhere, and they slowly departed, but not before Hawke had called the young mage over to him.

"You're Feynriel, aren't you?"

"How-how do you know that? Who _are_ you?" the boy demanded, his arrogant bearing and hands on hips doing nothing to disguise the fact he was terrified.

"Your mother sent us to look for you; she's very concerned about you."

"Huh!" snorted Feynriel. "That cow wants to turn me over to the Templars; I suppose that's what she's sent you to do?"

Something dangerous flashed in Hawke's brown eyes and he stalked forward, causing Feynriel to back pedal. "If I'd spoken about _my_ mother in that way when I was your age, I'd have got the belt, and deservedly so!"

"Easy, Hawke," said Anders. "He's clearly frightened."

Unwisely, Feynriel did not back down. "_And_ you set fire to the ship, and just came charging down; you could have hurt us!"

"You ungrateful wretch!" Hawke stormed, cuffing the boy around the head. "I ought to teach you some manners!"

As Feynriel cowered, Anders stepped in between them. "Hawke…" he hissed. Hawke glowered at the ingrate and turned away. "It's all right, you're free to go," Anders told the boy.

"Wait…" Hawke turned back. "I didn't say anything about him being free to go."

"What?" asked Anders, surprised. "Wasn't this the whole point? To find him and make sure he's safe?"

"The point was that his mother, who had kept him a secret up until now, suddenly decided he needed to go to the Templars," Hawke argued. "There must be a good reason for that."

"I hope you're not saying what I think you're saying, Hawke!"

"Feynriel," Hawke said. "Why does your mother want you to go to the Circle?"

His pride wounded at being slapped about the head, Feynriel pouted. "I don't see why I have to tell _you_ anything!"

"If you _don't _tell me," threatened Hawke, tired of this cheeky whelp's attitude, "I'll take you to the Gallows right now!"

"You're bluffing!"

Hawke grabbed Feynriel's arm and pushed him forward. "We'll see about _that_."

"Hawke!" Anders protested.

"All right! I'll tell you! Just let go of me, you ruffian!" Feynriel shrugged off Hawke's hand and stepped away from him.

"Talk," Hawke growled.

Feynriel took a further step back as Fenris approached and stood a few feet away from Hawke. "I-I've been having dreams," admitted the boy.

Anders nodded. "It's all right; all mages have the occasional dream. You were offered something by a demon? That kind of dream?"

Feynriel nodded.

"_All_ mages have these dreams?" Fenris asked. "You are tempted by demons on a regular basis?"

"Not regularly, no," replied Hawke. "Just once in a while. It's not the dreams that are a problem; so long as the mage resists any offer made, the demons give up and go after someone else," he explained, his words feeling hollow as they left his mouth.

"I-I know that," Feynriel said. "The problem is, I'm having these dreams every night, several_ times _a night."

Hawke's eyes widened. "Well, that's not right at all."

"And that's not all," Feynriel continued, genuine fear in his eyes. "I hear them whispering to me…when I'm awake."

"What?" Hawke shot a horrified glance at Anders, whose expression remained impassive.

"He must be delivered to the Templars immediately," insisted Fenris with a disgusted look at the youngster.

"No!" argued Anders. "This is not his fault! We should be helping him, not abandoning him!"

"Bloody hell," Hawke muttered under his breath, his head pounding from lack of sleep. The last thing he needed was these two arguing, and he had no wish to act as mediator.

"It is only a matter of time before the boy succumbs to the demon's influence!" Fenris argued with passion. "He _must _be contained! He is a danger to himself, as well as others!"

Anders folded his arms and huffed. "So, we've just fought to liberate these elves, and you want to go and bang him up in a prison? _That _makes sense, doesn't it?"

"It is the only sensible or sane choice! You profess to detest blood mages, and yet you would allow this plaything for the demons to wander around, unchecked?"

"I'm _not _a blood mage!" Feynriel cried.

"Not yet," snarled Fenris. "It is but a matter of time."

"Hawke?" Anders asked. "Don't _you_ have anything to say? Care to back me up, here?"

Hawke rubbed his eyes and groaned. "He's not going to the Circle," he began.

"I should have known another mage would back up his reckless plan!" Fenris accused.

"But we can't release him, either," Hawke finished tersely, waiting for the inevitable retort from Anders; he wasn't disappointed.

"So what do _you_ suggest we do, Hawke? We can't return him to his mother; she'll call the Templars again, and when they find out about him, they'll make him tranquil!"

"That is the _only _viable solution!" Fenris barked.

"Don't_ I_ get a say in this?" Feynriel moaned.

"No!" snapped Hawke, highly irritated with the whole business. "Everyone just shut up for a minute! I'm trying to think!" He paced along the sand, rubbing his temples in an attempt to hold back the pressure that pushed against his skull. "Wait…what about the Dalish?"

"The Dalish?" asked Anders, his brow wrinkling.

"Yes…Keeper Marethari is obviously a powerful mage, Merrill's a mage…I've heard that all Dalish know a little magic. Maybe they can help him?"

Fenris shook his head in dismissal. "The girl is a blood mage. For all we know, this 'keeper' could also practise forbidden magic. He _must _go to the Templars."

"He is _not _going to the Circle!" Hawke insisted.

"Yes, that could work," Anders mused. "That's a good idea, Hawke. They know old magic, and it's said they have a stronger connection to the Fade than other mages. I think they _could _help him."

"And if they cannot?" Fenris questioned. "If he wreaks his demonic influence upon their clan, then what? Will _you _take responsibility for that?" he asked Hawke.

"He's _going _to the Dalish," Hawke asserted, his eyes locked with the elf's.

"You are a fool. This in unwise and irresponsible."

"You're not the first person to call me a fool, and you won't be the last."

Anders sighed as he watched the two of them but was relieved that Hawke had backed him up. "Come on, Feynriel; let's get you to the Dalish camp."

Hawke shook his head, feeling invisible hammers pound at it with every movement. "No; I need to rest, first. My head is killing me. I need to shut my eyes for a couple of hours."

"Have you tried healing yourself?"

"I did earlier, and it made no difference."

"You wish to sleep?" asked Fenris. "And where will you do that?"

"Here, on the sand, for all I care. You lot can carry on, if you like."

"I'll take him," Anders volunteered. "I don't feel too bad. What are we going to do with this lot?" he asked, pointing to the slavers.

"The City Guard will be coming for you," Hawke told them with a glance at the rapidly-disintegrating ship. "I'm going to have to talk to bloody _Aveline. _Great," he spat as he walked away. "Thanks, Anders," he called out.

"Wait," said Fenris. "You would trust him to deliver the boy to the Dalish? He will release him the moment our backs are turned!"

Hawke wheeled round. "I've had just about enough of you, Fenris!"

"So, I am here merely as a lapdog, one that will fawn and agree with everything you say, as he wags his tail?" Fenris asked with venom in his words.

"Go with them, if you're so concerned!" barked Hawke, stomping away.

"He is _not _coming with us," Anders insisted as he led the boy away.

Fenris stood, alone, as the mages went their separate ways. He felt heat creep along his skin and glanced down at his arms, upon which his markings flickered. Irritated at the chatter and moaning among the incapacitated slavers, he felt anger flare within him and turned sharply towards them.

"Stop talking!" he snarled, his markings flaring violently.

Instantaneously, an eerie silence fell over the beach as the terrified criminals ceased their noise.

Fenris growled under his breath and reluctantly began to follow Hawke.

He eventually found him tucked behind a sand dune, his legs pulled up to his chest with his eyes closed. As Fenris approached and sat on the sand a distance away, Hawke's eyes opened.

"Come to tell me again what a fool I am?"

"What purpose would that serve? We both know it to be true," said Fenris, placing his sword at his side and bending one leg to examine his foot.

Too tired to argue or care, Hawke sighed and closed his eyes.

Sometime later, his eyes opened; looking up at the sky, he noted that the sun had climbed a little higher, and guessed that it was mid-morning. Fenris was slumped against the opposite side of the dune, approximately twenty feet away; his head rested against his chest, forming a tiny double chin, and his body twitched occasionally.

Hawke watched him for a little while, feeling guilty for being so snappy earlier on. Of _course _Fenris wasn't going to agree; he'd even warned Hawke of that. Hawke cursed himself for being such an irritable shit at times, and wearily pushed himself to his feet.

"Master…please…"

Hawke froze and glanced at Fenris, whose face wore an expression of anguish, fear.

"Please…not tonight."

Hawke's eyes narrowed and he carefully sat back down on the sand, watching and listening intently.

"No! Please, Danarius! I'll do anything you want! Please, not that!"

Hawke placed a hand over his mouth as a tear trickled down Fenris's cheek and his body trembled, his lyrium markings flaring into life.

"Please…" Fenris sobbed, and Hawke jumped to his feet, meaning to wake him, but stopped, fearful of Fenris's reaction if he did. He stood helplessly as the elf continued to plead with the master he could see only in his dreams.

"Fenris," he called. "Wake up!"

"I cannot take anymore!" Fenris yelled and his eyes snapped open to find Hawke standing over him.


	8. Chapter 8

Hawke held his hands up in front of him as a startled Fenris sat up quickly, and then froze, ferocity in his eyes as he pinned Hawke in place with a look.

"Sorry," Hawke mumbled. "You were…you were calling out in your sleep. I was just…"

The two men stared at each other for a long moment, Fenris's eyes eventually moving downwards to the sand. "You…heard me?"

"Oh, erm, not much," lied Hawke, his mind still reeling at Fenris's utterances, and what they might mean. He turned his back on the warrior and walked over to where he'd slept, and began to collect his belongings.

Fenris, realising that one of his cheeks was damp, quickly rubbed at it and pushed himself to his feet, not once taking his eyes off Hawke. Upon hearing the mage's ragged exhalation, his body stiffened. "What exactly did you hear?" he asked, his voice brittle and cold.

Hawke pressed his lips together and closed his eyes. "You weren't making much sense," he said with his back to the elf. "It was all gibberish. Don't worry; I've been told _I_ talk crap when I'm asleep, as well. _And_ awake, come to think of it," he joked, although he felt far from jolly.

Silence hung in the cool morning air, punctuated occasionally by the distant screech of gulls and the swell of the sea as it crashed against the rocks. Hawke stood and half-turned toward Fenris. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'm ready to go home and have a proper sleep."

"I dislike being lied to, Hawke."

"Eh? What do you mean?" he mumbled with feigned nonchalance as panic scalded his insides. He wiped his sweaty palms against his robe and brushed it down. "Bloody sand," he moaned.

"Tell me the truth," demanded Fenris, who had not budged one inch from his original position. "What did you hear?" he asked curtly.

_What am I supposed to do_? wondered Hawke, his mind racing. _Tell him the truth and make him feel ashamed and uncomfortable, or lie? I'm obviously not very good at __that_. He turned to face the tense elf. It was obvious Hawke had broken into a sweat, and his belly fluttered.

"I…I heard you mention Danarius," he mumbled, unable to meet Fenris's penetrating gaze.

He saw Fenris pick up his sword and slip it through the strap on the back of his chest plate. "I am ready to depart," he said quietly, and began to walk away from Hawke.

"Fenris…" The elf stopped but did not turn around. "Are you…"

"I do not wish to discuss it."

"All right," Hawke said, relieved and yet still anxious. He walked after Fenris, keeping a short distance away but making sure the elf could see him. "Would you like a drink?" he offered, placing his hand on his water skin.

"No, thank you."

It would be a long trip back to Kirkwall; Hawke did not relish both he and Fenris feeling uncomfortable for the duration of the journey, and decided to give Fenris the opportunity to be alone, if that was what he wanted. "Would you like some company on the way back?" he offered, trying to keep his tone light. "I have to go to Hightown myself, to see Aveline…"

Fenris continued to walk ahead of Hawke, the tension in his posture still evident. "I will make my own way back," he said firmly, but without anger, and hastened his pace.

Hawke dropped back and eventually stopped, uncorking his waterskin and draining it. Once Fenris was out of sight, he slowly continued, first ensuring that the slavers were still secured.

~o~O~o~

Deciding he couldn't face Aveline without a bracer, Hawke trudged into The Hanged Man, and, not seeing anyone familiar in there, made his way to the bar. "Cooked breakfast, please, and a mug of tea," he said to Corff.

"Sorry, Hawke, we stopped serving breakfast two hours ago," the bartender informed him.

"Eh? What time is it, then?" mumbled Hawke blearily.

"It's after lunch."

"Crap."

"We have stew," Corff offered apologetically.

"Stew _again_? Is that all you ever serve in here?"

Corff shrugged and laughed. "We don't get much call for anything else."

Hawke huffed and rubbed his eyes. "Well, how about a bit of bread and cheese? Pickles? Anything like that?"

"Aye, I think I can stretch to that," answered Corff. "You want tea or ale with that?"

"Ale. Thanks, mate. Varric around?"

"Over here, Hawke!" Varric called from the other side of the bar.

"Of course you're here!" Hawke said wryly and made his way round to the other side of the bar, where he found Varric chatting to a tall, dark-skinned woman with pendulous breasts, barely contained by her skimpy outfit, which bordered on the indecent.

Hawke raised a stern eyebrow as he approached, and Varric laughed. "Always the protective big bro', I see." He gestured to the woman. "Hawke, this is Isabela. She may have some business opportunities for us, if you're interested."

Hawke glanced at her and nodded curtly, before turning back to Varric, leaving a nonplussed Isabela to wonder why he hadn't immediately gawked at her breasts, as most men did.

Sensing that Hawke wasn't in a sociable mood, Varric took Isabela to one side. "We'll talk again later, ok?"

"I'll be around," she replied, and sauntered past Hawke, who completely ignored her.

"Maker's breath, Hawke!" exclaimed Varric as he stepped closer. "You look like death warmed over!"

Hawke managed a thin smile. "Yes, but you should see the other guy," he quipped humourlessly.

"Have a seat," invited Varric, taking a chair at the nearest table. "Blondie's here," he told Hawke as they sat down. "He told me all about what happened with the slavers. Nice work! Although you _could_ have plundered the ship _before _you set fire to it; that's a schoolboy error right there, Hawke. Just imagine what could have been on board!"

"I know; I was lost without my favourite dwarf," Hawke said with a grin as a serving girl brought over a plate of bread, cheese and piccalilli with two apples and a tankard of ale; Hawke nodded in thanks.

"Your favourite out of me and Bartrand," replied Varric, placing his hands over his heart. "I'm deeply touched."

"So you should be," answered Hawke. "Did Bethany get home all right?"

"Sure did, Hawke."

"Thanks. You said Anders was here?" Hawke asked, cramming a chunk of bread into his mouth.

"Yeah." Varric nodded toward the rear of the pub. "He was gonna go back and sleep at that rathole, but I told him he could crash on my bed. Do all mages snore like that?" He reached over and pinched one of Hawke's apples, and polished it on his coat before taking a bite. "So…you kinda look like you lost a sovereign and found a copper, Hawke."

Hawke shrugged and took a gulp of ale, setting his tankard down. "Just a few things on my mind. I'm sure I'll feel better after a kip."

Varric took another bite of his apple and observed as Hawke picked at his food. Hawke knew that Varric was watching him, and that he was waiting for him to speak up. He sighed and sat back in his chair.

"Varric…what would you do if I told you I was a blood mage?" he asked quietly.

"Me, Hawke? I wouldn't do anything. Should I?"

Hawke shook his head. "See, I knew you'd say something like that."

"So, are you?" asked Varric. Hawke stared at his plate and nodded. "Does Blondie know?"

"No," Hawke said heavily, resting his head on his hand and pushing the food around his plate. "I need to tell him, though; I wouldn't want him finding out by accident."

"And the elf?"

Hawke smiled grimly and looked up at Varric. "I like my head where it is, thank you very much." His eyes returned to his plate and he fell quiet, wondering where, and how, Fenris was.

"Is that all, Hawke?"

"Is that _all_?" Hawke repeated, once again glancing up at Varric. "Did you see the way Anders changed toward Merrill once he found out about her?"

"No, I meant 'is that all you have on your mind', but don't worry about Blondie. He'll come round. Besides, he's known you for a lot longer than Daisy; he's gotten to know the real you beneath the evil death powers and all that."

Hawke shook his head and laughed. "Always know how to cheer me up, don't you, Varric?"

"Always!" Varric leaned forward a little and grabbed a piece of cheese from Hawke's plate. "You want me to talk to him?" he asked casually.

"Oh, no, Varric. I appreciate the offer, but…this needs to come from me." He glanced anxiously in the direction of Varric's room, his gut twisting at the thought of Anders' reaction. He sighed and pushed his plate toward Varric, having lost his appetite. "Here. I've got to go and see Aveline, now; won't that be fun?"

Hawke _hated _Aveline. He hated her deep, harsh voice; he hated the fact she was taller than him. He hated her stupid freckles and bright orange hair, and constant righteousness and moralising. He hated the very idea of her. Beside his mother and sister, Hawke had no experience of women at all, and had no idea of how they worked. He found women who tried to be men especially confounding.

If he was honest with himself, though, the real reason he hated her so was that _she _had not been quick enough to save Carver, either. She'd made such a big show of being brave and protective when her husband had been injured, and yet, when the Ogre had appeared, she'd hesitated just as Hawke had. The only person who hadn't quailed had been Carver. He'd pushed his mother and sister aside and had charged in without a thought for himself. Stupid, brave Carver!

He also hated Aveline's husband for getting injured, thus diverting all the attention from Carver as his brother had lain dead in his mother's arms. What had Wesley done to deserve such care? Oh, yes: he'd _courageously _told his own wife to _kill _him. What a hero! And Aveline had done so without a second thought, without shedding a single tear. What was wrong with her? Did she have no heart?

The truth was, Hawke hated Aveline, and blamed her, as much as he hated and blamed himself. Every time he laid eyes upon her, he was instantly back in Lothering, the sound of Bethany's sobs ringing in his ears, his mother, drenched in Carver's blood, rocking her broken son against her bosom. His mother _blaming _him. He couldn't hate his mother, so Aveline was just as good a substitute as anyone. He _needed_ to hate someone; Carver's death had been so senseless and could easily have been prevented. At least having someone else to blame made some sense out of it, or so he told himself.

"Hawke?"

"What?"

"I was saying that I have some things to take care of in Hightown, and _I_ need to see Aveline as well. Why don't you let me tell her?"

Hawke eyed Varric with scepticism. "Do you _really _have to go to Hightown? Isn't that quite a walk for those little legs of yours?"

Varric chuckled. "I was as tall as you when I was younger, Hawke; it's the trips up and down those damned steps that've worn my legs away to stumps. Anyway, it'll give me plenty of time to think up a good story." He stood up, having polished off the last of Hawke's meal. "Stay here and wait for Blondie. I'll take care of Carrot-Features."

"Does _she _know you call her that?" Hawke asked with a snigger.

"Not a chance," muttered Varric out of the side of his mouth. "I like _my _head where it is as well, thank you very much." He hoisted Bianca onto his back.

"You're too good to me, Varric," Hawke said quietly.

"Ach," said Varric with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Oh! Before I forget, this was hand-delivered to me this morning." He produced an official-looking letter from his pocket and handed it to Hawke.

Hawke looked at the letter warily as he took it. "You want _me _to read this?"

"It's for you," Varric told him. "Well, us."

Puzzled, Hawke frowned as he opened the letter and began to read.

_Messere Varric Tethras,_

_I commend you and your companions' actions in returning Ser Keran to us and for remanding the blood mages securely until my men and I were able to reach them; they are now safely contained at The Gallows._

_I extend an invitation to you and Messere Hawke to come and see me at The Gallows when you are able, to receive your reward, and perhaps to discuss future ways in which we may work together. I apologise that I am unable to visit you in person as most of my time is taken up here._

_I am aware of Messere Hawke's status and would ask that he wear civilian attire and to come unarmed, or at least without his staff, so as not to draw attention to himself while here. I will personally guarantee his safety if he follows these recommendations._

_Thank you once again, and I look forward to receiving you._

_Knight-Captain Cullen._

"What did I tell you?" asked Varric as Hawke read the letter again. "We do a favour for the Templars, they 'employ' us to do things on the side. And that reward he mentioned will be _big_. Or, if it isn't, we can remind him that we averted a crisis within the Templar Order; a recruit possessed by a demon would have been a massive embarrassment to them."

"Can we trust him?" Hawke asked.

"I think so; he seems a pretty decent guy, and he knows you'll be pinched the instant you walk in there dressed like a mage, so he's recommended that you don't. I've acquired a 'nose' for people over the years, Hawke, and I think he's all right."

Hawke nodded thoughtfully. "All right, then. Actually, I'd quite like to see The Gallows."

"Don't get too excited, Hawke; it's not the cheeriest of places. There's no rush, anyway; I guess all you young 'uns will want to catch up on your sleep today. How about tomorrow?"

"That's fine." Hawke stood up and shook Varric's hand. "You're a good dwarf, Varric; I don't care what the rest of them say," he joked.

"Stop it! You'll get me all misty-eyed," Varric joked back, wiping a non-existent tear from his eye. "I've gotta look after my favourite investor, haven't I?"

"Your favourite out of me and Bartrand. I'm deeply touched," Hawke said drily.

"So you should be." Varric released his hand and headed for the door. "Blondie: he'll be fine," he told Hawke with a reassuring nod before departing.

Hawke slumped back into his chair and called for another ale, which he downed in one as he stared glumly at the rear of the pub. "No time like the present," he said to himself, wiping the froth from his mouth. He took his empty plate and tankard back to the bar, something which Corff found curious, as nobody else bothered, and paid for his meal.

"Corff, there might some shouting coming from Varric's room," he warned. "Just leave us to it, all right?"

"What you do in there is your own business," answered Corff, looking slightly embarrassed as he busied himself polishing the counter.

"What…? No! I meant an argument! Maker's breath!" Hawke walked away, shaking his head.

Arriving outside the door to Varric's room, he paused and pressed his ear to the door; he certainly couldn't hear snoring, and hoped that Anders wasn't asleep, or, at least if he was, that he wouldn't be too pissed off at the interruption.

Making a fist, he brought his hand up to the door and closed his eyes, sighing heavily.

Apart from Varric, Anders was the only friend Hawke had made since his arrival in Kirkwall. They'd hit it off immediately; they were both Fereldan apostates, and had much to talk about. At first, Hawke had appreciated Anders in a physical way, and had initially been attracted to him; Anders _was_ a handsome man, after all, in a raffish sort of way.

Wisely, he'd kept those thoughts to himself and had soon realised that Anders wasn't really his type, particularly after finding out about Justice. Any fantasies he'd entertained of bedding Anders had quickly evaporated with the thought of the spirit tagging along, watching, maybe even joining in. Could spirits even do that? He certainly wasn't taking any chances. And, although Hawke and Anders still shared some flirtatious banter, which Hawke enjoyed, Anders's preference seemed to be for women, as demonstrated at The Blooming Rose.

Hawke liked Anders. He liked the fact that they understood each other and that each brought a unique perspective to their lengthy conversations: Hawke, who had lived as a free apostate, and Anders, who had been locked up and had spent most of his adult life either on the run, or planning his next escape.

Anders made Hawke laugh when he was feeling glum, and Hawke did the same for him. When Hawke didn't feel like himself, he became snappy and irritable; when Anders was down, he'd be quiet and would take off somewhere on his own. The two men understood, and accepted this about each other. Anders was also very affectionate, and liked to touch people when he spoke to them: on the arm, the shoulder, the back. He always hugged Hawke when greeting him, and, although Hawke no longer felt physically attracted to Anders, he'd missed that physical contact with another man, and looked forward to it.

In the time they'd known each other, Anders had come to mean a lot to Hawke, and they spent much of their free time together, either doing jobs together or socialising. He knew deep down that Varric was right; that Anders was a decent man and that he probably _would _come round to the idea eventually, but he knew that Anders would be hurt and angered by his revelation, as well as disappointed, and that was probably what Hawke dreaded the most.

His fist made contact with the wooden door several times, and he listened, hearing shuffling from inside the room.

"Come in, Varric; you don't have to knock," Anders called out.

Hawke wiped his palms against his robe and opened the door a little. "It's me, Anders. Are you dressed?"

"Oh, yes, come in, Hawke."

Anders pushed himself up on the bed as Hawke entered and yawned, stretching his arms.

"Did I wake you?" asked Hawke.

"No, I was just dozing. Nice room, this, isn't it?"

Hawke smiled and nodded as he found a small chair not far from the bed. "How did you get on with Feynriel?" he asked, sitting down.

"Oh, fine. That keeper seemed very interested in him and said they'd begin looking into his problem immediately. I think he'll be ok with them."

"Good." Hawke sighed and stretched his own arms, hoping to pull the knot of anxiety out of his belly, but failing. "You want some tea?" he offered, thumbing toward the direction of the bar.

"Ooh, yes please, Hawke. You sort that out while I have a shit, yes?"

"Charming!" Hawke laughed as he stood and headed for the door.

"Even the King of Ferelden has to shit, Hawke," Anders chirped, following Hawke out and heading for the latrines at the back of the building. "Although _his_ latrines are probably made of solid gold, and _his _turds probably smell like flowers or something. Instead of shit."

"You berk!" Hawke laughed again and headed to the bar, while Anders headed out back.

"Race you!" Anders challenged.

"_Please_, Anders, don't rush on my account."

Hawke won the impromptu race, and waited in Varric's room with two steaming mugs of tea. Anders sailed through the door a short time later with a huge grin on his face. "Ahh! I feel about a stone lighter, now!"

"Good to know, Anders." Hawke passed Anders his mug, who plonked himself down on Varric's bed.

"So, what's on your mind, Hawke?" he asked as he took a sip.

"On my mind? What makes you say that?"

"Well, you didn't come here just to bring me a cup of tea, as much as I appreciate it."

"No, I didn't." Hawke winced as he took too much hot tea into his mouth. "Anders…oh crap, this is hard." He placed his mug on the floor and rubbed his forehead.

"Just spit it out, Hawke," Anders said with a shrug.

Hawke sighed and placed his hands in his lap, looking Anders in the eye; that was the least he could do. "Anders…I just want you to know that I consider you to be a good friend, and what I'm about to tell you may change that. I hope it doesn't, but…" He wrung his hands together and hung his head. "There's something I need to tell you. Something I'm not proud of."

"Go ahead, Hawke."

"Anders…I'm…a blood mage."

"Yes, I know."

"You…_what_?" Hawke's head jerked up and he broke into a sweat. "What? I-I…Anders, I don't understand."

"I knew it the very first time we met," Anders explained, his face expressionless. "Well, rather Justice knew, and therefore I knew."

Hawke stared at him blankly. "Why didn't you say anything? I don't understand any of this."

Anders let out a long breath and leaned back on his hands. "To tell you the truth, I didn't care what you were at first. I needed someone to help me with Karl, and you happened to come along just at the right time. I used you, Hawke; that's the truth. At first, anyway." He took a sip of tea and set his mug down. "Then I did a few jobs with you, and we got on well, but I was still wary."

"So…what changed your mind?" Hawke asked.

"Nothing's changed my mind, Hawke; I don't approve of it for one second, but Justice told me that your connection with your demon was very weak, like you'd never used blood magic at all. That got me thinking that maybe you'd regretted learning it."

"I do, Anders. I regret it more than anything. I only used it once, and I was very young and stupid when I did. I've not used it since, and I have no intention of ever doing so again." Hawke pulled up the sleeves of his robe and showed Anders his scar-free arms.

Anders sighed. "You don't need to prove anything to me, Hawke. What happened, then? Did the demon come to you in your dreams?"

Hawke nodded and slouched in the chair, feeling his headache return. "I was fifteen. A Desire Demon came to me; she knew exactly what I wanted, and, like an idiot, I accepted without a thought. I actually thought that blood magic would make me…mysterious, alluring. Fuck."

"What did she give you, Hawke? What was it that you wanted so much?"

Hawke blanched and fidgeted in his seat. "I-I'm sorry, Anders, I'm not ready to tell you that. Just know that something happened that I will take to the grave with me. I have to live with it every day."

"Did you kill someone?"

"No! No…not exactly. I…I'm sorry, Anders, I just can't tell you. Not-not now."

"All right," Anders said briskly. "Well, at least you realised your mistake, and I'm glad you finally told me; I've been waiting for you to, considering you know my feelings about blood magic."

"I've wanted to tell you, Anders…I was just afraid that you'd, well, not be friends with me anymore. Or kill me. That probably would have been worse," he said with a rueful half-smile.

"Don't get me wrong, Hawke; I'm not happy about this at all," Anders said in a stern tone, and then he sighed. "I'm glad you don't use it anymore, though. So, what bargain did you make with the demon?"

Hawke covered his eyes with one hand and shook his head. "I…I said she could come for me on my fiftieth birthday."

"What?" Anders shot up from the bed and placed his hands over his face for a moment, and then removed them. "Hawke! How could you be so…"

"Stupid? Yes, I already know that, Anders! Look; I was fifteen. Fifteen! Fifty seemed so far away…I mean, old men are fifty, aren't they? I was a young kid and I thought it would take forever to reach fifty. I also thought, in my cockiness, that I could somehow wriggle out of the deal at some point. How wrong I was. She visits me in the Fade every now and then to remind me. Time's going fast, Anders; I'm twenty-six, now. My life is half-over."

"And when she does come for you, Hawke, a Desire Demon in the body of a _mage _is going to be unleashed upon Thedas! Do you any _idea_ of the devastation she could wreak?"

"Anders," Hawke said quietly. "Do you think I haven't thought about that? I have no intention of reaching my fiftieth birthday."

Anders's hands fell to his sides and his head fell back.

"There's no other way, Anders; I made the deal, and I have to live with the consequences. Or not, as the case may be."

"Bloody hell, Hawke…" Anders slumped back onto the bed and he picked up his mug of tea, swirling the brown liquid around. "I think we need something a bit stronger than this, don't you?"

"You'd drink with a blood mage?" Hawke asked hopefully.

"I'd drink with you. I'm going to try not to think about the blood mage bit," Anders answered.

"Well, you _can_ forget about it, because for all intents and purposes I'm _not _a blood mage. Not a practising one, anyway."

"Does anyone else know?"

Hawke nodded. "Varric knows; I told him before I came in here, because I was, well, shitting bricks about telling you. He didn't bat an eyelid."

"Figures," Anders said with a soft snort. "What about Bethany?"

"Bethany's known from the start."

"Did…" Anders began, and then paused.

"Did what?" Hawke asked.

"I was just wondering…tell me to mind my own business if you like, but…did Carver know?"

Hawke stared at a wall for a while, and Anders thought he wasn't going to answer. "Yes, he knew," he said at last. "That was the very reason he hated me. That was the reason he hated the fact his brother and sister were mages. My father knew as well, but he was a mage and was understanding, if disappointed. My mother has no idea; she'd only fret."

"Sorry, Hawke; I didn't mean to bring up bad memories for you."

"It's all right, Anders."

"What about Fenris? Does he know?"

Hawke stood up and stretched, then rubbed his temples. "No…he really _would _kill me. His…his master was a blood mage." Hawke fell silent, again pondering Fenris's dream, and his stomach knotted. "Well!" he said with false cheer. "Let's get that drink."

Anders walked toward the door, and Hawke stood behind him as he opened it. "Anders," Hawke said, placing a hand on Anders' shoulder, who turned around. "Thank you for, well, not killing me." He wrapped his arms around Anders and hugged him tightly, and then let go of him quickly, stepping out of the room.

~o~O~o~

After his drink with Anders, Hawke headed to Gamlen's house; he couldn't quite call it home, but it was somewhere to sleep.

Thankfully, Gamlen was out. Bethany was up, having caught up on her sleep, and, although she and her mother were relieved that Fletcher was safe, they fussed over him, dismayed at how tired and dishevelled he looked.

After a hearty meal and several cups of tea, Leandra insisted that Hawke go to bed, and made up a cot for him in the back room where she and Bethany slept; as Hawke usually slept on with floor in the same room as Gamlen, he didn't protest.

Although the cot was comfortable and warm, and even though he felt drowsy after the heavy meal, sleep did not come easily to Hawke: he was greatly relieved that Anders had not rejected him, but their conversation had stirred up some unpleasant memories for him, ones that he'd pushed to the back of his mind, but were now played out in perfect clarity.

He thought of Fenris, too; Hawke had no doubt that his master had not treated him well, and, in his dream, Danarius could have been asking Fenris to do anything, but there had been real fear, real vulnerability in Fenris's voice, and Hawke's gut twisted again at the thought of what that might mean.

"_Please…not tonight."_

Was Hawke no better than Danarius? He'd cajoled someone to do something against their will, after all. Was it the same thing that Danarius had done to Fenris? Was Hawke a monster?

Finally, fatigue overwhelmed him, and his eyes closed. He did not wake until the following morning.


	9. Chapter 9

_Strong language in this chapter._

~o~O~o~

The following morning, Anders and Varric were already at The Hanged Man when a rather subdued Hawke arrived with Bethany. Anders failed to notice their entrance at first, as Isabela had also joined him and Varric, and sat on their table with her legs dangling over the edge; Anders didn't quite know which part of her to look at first, but didn't look away, either.

Hawke was startled at the loud wolf-whistle that greeted him, and glowered at the three people at the table, all of whom assumed an innocent look.

Anders burst out laughing as soon as he caught sight of his scowling friend. "Blimey, Hawke, where did _those_ come from? They look like they're from the Blessed Age!"

"They're Gamlen's," answered Bethany, failing to keep a straight face.

Hawke gave her a severe look, which only succeeded in making her giggle. "Look; I don't own any trousers of my own, all right? I'm not used to wearing them." He grabbed his waistband and twisted the trousers from one side to the other, his face reddening in frustration. "How can people _wear _these bloody things…?"

"They're a bad example of trousers, sweetheart," drawled Isabela, her eyes roaming to Hawke's crotch. "The cut's all wrong. _Those _trousers don't leave any room for genitalia, male _or _female."

Hawke ceased struggling with his trousers and looked up at her. "I'm sorry; who _are_ you, again?"

"Isabela, remember?" prompted Varric. "Don't mind him, Isabela; he's not a morning person."

Isabela looked Hawke up and down approvingly. "So, you're a _night _person, then?" she asked with a wink.

Anders sniggered from beside her. "Sorry, love, you're barking up the wrong tree, there."

"Oh? And which tree _should _I be barking up, then?"

"Well, the only people he likes barking up _his _tree have deeper voices and a lot more body hair than I'm guessing you do, Isabela."

"Oh, bugger. Now you bloody tell me!" She pouted dramatically, her eyes moving over to Varric. "No matter; there are plenty more fish in the sea," she said with a waggle of her eyebrows.

Varric laughed and shook his head as Bethany took a step forward, folding her arms. "Ah," said Isabela. "I get it. Well, how about our handsome mage here, then?" she asked, running her fingers through Anders's hair.

Anders giggled, and then his face dropped like a stone. "Hey! Why am _I_ last choice?"

"Oh, you're not, Sweetcakes. I just assumed that some lucky lady, or _man_," she said with a sly glance at Hawke, "would already have snapped you up by now."

"Something we can help you with, Isabela?" Hawke cut in.

"Actually, there is," she replied jauntily, and slid off the table. "I've already explained it to Varric, but I'll say it again. Some men are after me."

Bethany snorted. "Seems it's the other way round, to me."

Isabela laughed, completely unfazed by the comment. "Cute. Anyway, they think I have something that I don't, and, well, they're starting to become rather tiresome. I could do with some help, and I've heard that you and your little gang like to help people out," she said to Hawke.

"We do," he answered, "but we also like to get paid."

"Oh, you'll be paid, all right, once these bastards are off my back. The ringleader's a bloke named Hayder. We've arranged to meet tonight in the chantry to…'thrash things out', but I have a feeling he'll play dirty, and will bring a few of his friends along. Well, a lot of them, actually."

"All right," agreed Hawke with a nod. "Anybody have plans tonight?"

"Not me, Hawke; I'm in," said Anders.

"Count me in, too," Varric called.

"Bethany?" asked Hawke, and she nodded.

Isabella grinned and breathed a sigh of relief. "Two mages and a dwarf with a mighty weapon," she smirked, and then glanced at Hawke. "And what do _you_ fight with, sailor? Although…those trousers of yours look pretty dangerous."

"_I'm _a mage, as well," Hawke grumped. "I usually carry a staff, but I don't…"

"I _bet _you do," replied Isabela.

Hawke wrinkled his nose and distractedly scratched his cheek. He was not used to being flirted with by women, particularly those who _knew _he didn't actually _go _for women. "Is, erm…Fenris here?" he asked, looking around the lounge.

"Hasn't shown up," Anders told him with a raised eyebrow. "I daresay he took umbrage at being overruled by a _mage_."

"Who's Fenris?" Isabela asked.

"He's an elf with a chip on his shoulder to rival his sword," Anders answered.

Isabela's eyes lit up. "Ooh…I _like _elves."

"Of course you do," said Bethany tartly.

Hawke didn't hear the rest of the conversation, his eyes fixed on the entrance to the pub. Where _was_ Fenris? Was Anders right? Had he taken offence at being disagreed with, or was his absence to do with what had happened afterwards?

"So, Hawke, what's on the agenda for the rest of the day?" Varric asked, interrupting his thoughts. "You and I are headed for The Gallows, which explains those…interesting pants, but what are Blondie and Sunshine going to do with themselves?"

"_I_ can't tell them what to do, Varric," he mumbled absent-mindedly.

"Actually," Anders piped up, "I thought I could pop over to the alienage to let Feynriel's mother know where he is. Fancy tagging along, Bethany?"

"Yes, I'd like that."

Hawke turned towards Bethany and addressed her, but kept Anders within his line of sight. "Actually…you _could_ check on Merrill while you're there, see if she fancies doing anything with us."

"Oh, that's a good idea, Brother!" she replied with enthusiasm, and Hawke grinned at her, well aware that Anders was staring daggers at him.

"Well, maybe _you _could do that, Sister, while Anders talks to the boy's mother?" As Bethany nodded, he noticed Anders' posture relax a little.

"And what am_ I_ supposed to do with myself?" Isabela demanded, hands on hips.

"Erm…whatever you usually do?" replied Hawke.

"The Gallows, eh?" she said to herself. "All those big men in shiny armour…well, it'd be a lot better than looking at the shower that usually drinks in here. I'm in!"

"Erm, that's really not necessary, Isabela, but thank you for the offer," Hawke began.

"Oh, you're no fun," she teased with a wave of her hand. "Well, where did the rest of you say you were going?"

"Tell you what, why don't you go along with Anders and Bethany?" Hawke suggested, and felt a dig in his ribs from his sister. He leaned towards her and whispered, "I think she's going to come with one of us, whether we like it or not. Either she goes with you, or she goes with me and _Varric_. Make your choice, Sister."

"What a good idea!" Bethany said stiffly.

"I feel _so _welcome!" Isabela laughed, tossing her hair behind her shoulders. "Well, when do we go?"

As the others talked, Hawke walked over to Varric and leaned against the table, bending to Varric's height. "I, erm, have something to do before we go to The Gallows," he mumbled quietly. "Can you wait a while?"

"Sure, Hawke; there are a few things I could take care of here. Going anywhere exciting?"

"No, not really," he answered evasively, and Varric knew better than to question him further. "See you all later," he announced in a louder voice, and headed for the door, his friends' goodbyes following him.

~o~O~o~

Hawke stared up at the windows of Danarius's mansion and grasped the back of his neck as he hesitated by the entrance. He wasn't quite sure why he was here; he was almost certain that he would not be welcomed by Fenris, and that any attempt at conversation would be met with hostility.

Somehow, though, he felt the need to apologise to Fenris. Not for overhearing his dream, nor for disagreeing with him over Feynriel. No, it was something more than that, but of course he could never make that apology, as Fenris had never been involved in _that_. Despite that, he still felt he had wronged Fenris, and wanted to make things right, but how? How could he ever make things right when the person he'd originally wronged was dead?

Hawke's nervous spells over the past few days had started to manifest themselves physically. He'd had loose bowels earlier that morning and his shoulders and neck hurt from the tension he carried around in them. His stomach, which had been tied in knots since the previous morning, now actually hurt, and he rubbed his tummy, as if that would actually help. As he raised his fist to the door, he felt the beginnings of a headache for the third day in a row.

He knew he did himself no favours: he was irritable and tetchy and probably appeared to be quite moody to those who didn't know him well; the reason for his moods, however, was that he felt horrible guilt when he snapped at people and so did his best to push his sourness aside, at least for a short time.

He _was _capable of being light-hearted and playful, but only once he'd got a few drinks under his belt. He was grateful that he wasn't an aggressive drunk, at least. He knew he drank too much, but the only reason he didn't drink more was for his mother and Bethany's sake. He couldn't remember his first three or four weeks in Kirkwall, as he'd spent most of it in a drunken stupor, until the day he'd overheard his mother and sister weeping over Carver and out of concern for him. That was when he finally realised that _he _was not the only one suffering, and had made a concerted effort to be more supportive of his family.

And, although he now managed to haul himself out of bed in the mornings, to bathe and remember to eat properly, most of the time he still felt his life wasn't real, that it was being lived through someone else, and that he was just a vaguely interested observer.

He rapped firmly against the door, part of him hoping that Fenris wouldn't hear, or that he was not at home. He had no idea of what he was going to say to him. He wanted to check that Fenris was well, of course, but he didn't think that sentiment would be appreciated, and had tried to think up an excuse for being there, coming up with absolutely nothing.

After waiting for a while, he knocked again. After several minutes, there was still no answer, and he decided to give the servant's bell pull a try; he pulled on the rope and could hear a faint ringing from within the house.

Still no answer came. He meshed his hands together behind his neck and briefly considered throwing a stone up at one of windows, before deciding against it. He then wondered if Fenris was still barricading the door from the inside as Hawke had advised him to do; Varric hadn't yet had a chance to take a look at the lock.

He tried the handle, and, sure enough, the door opened. Hawke tutted and shook his head, annoyed that Fenris wasn't taking proper care over his safety, but he was glad to have gained entry. He closed the door and stood in the vestibule. The mansion was in almost complete darkness: the heavy drapes that hung over the huge windows were all pulled closed, with only the odd chink of light seeping through where some of them hadn't quite been closed properly.

"Fenris?" he called out, his voice quieter than he'd intended. He cleared his throat and called again.

There was no answer.

Sighing, he began to climb the left-hand set of stairs and headed for the back room where Fenris had previously received him, finding the door closed. "Fenris?" he called again as he knocked on the door.

He grasped the handle and took a deep breath, but the air within the mansion was stale and dry, and he felt no benefit. He turned the handle and entered the room, immediately recoiling as the stench of cheap wine and vomit assaulted him.

"Shit!" He covered his nose and mouth with his sleeve and made his way over to the window, having remembered it was situated on the right side of the room, and threw open the drapes, choking as a cloud of dust exploded from them. Pushing the window up, he leaned against the window sill for a moment, gasping for fresh air.

"Fenris, are you…bollocks!" As Hawke turned around, he spotted Fenris's pale, limp form, still fully clad in his armour, half-hanging off the settee upon which he'd passed out. Half a dozen empty wine bottles, two of them smashed, and several pools of watery vomit surrounded his sleeping place.

Heedless of the vomit, Hawke strode over to the settee and yanked the unconscious Fenris up by his armpits, propping him up into a sitting position; the elf's head flopped back and his limp body slumped. Hawke sat down next to him and unslung his water skin from over his shoulder, removing the stopper, and, with his other hand, grabbed the back of Fenris's head.

"Fenris!" he bellowed. "Wake up!"

Fenris's head jerked and he uttered something incomprehensible. "Well, at least you're alive," said Hawke, placing his water skin next to Fenris's mouth. "Drink this," he ordered.

"Futue te ipsum!" The water skin was sent flying to the floor as Fenris swatted it away, landing in a puddle of vomit. Hawke scrambled to retrieve it before the contents were spilled. When he returned to the settee, Fenris's eyes were rolling in his head as he gave his best approximation of a fierce scowl.

"You stubborn bastard," Hawke muttered and once again sat next to Fenris, grabbing the back of the elf's head and shoving the water skin against his mouth. Having found his strength, however, Fenris fought back, and started grabbing at Hawke's arms, his spiked gauntlets puncturing Hawke's flesh.

"Ah…Agghhh!" Hawke yelled in pain, and violently yanked Fenris's head back, pouring the water down his throat. "Drink it, you cunt!"

Fenris struggled and spat the water out, but Hawke persisted, and, after a minute, Fenris released Hawke's arms and grabbed the water skin with both hands, drinking greedily from it.

"Easy…go easy," counselled Hawke, who winced at the pain in his arms. They were bleeding heavily, and Hawke stood, preferring to be at a safe distance from Fenris when casting, and began to heal himself. "You bastard. That bloody hurt!"

Fenris let the now-empty water skin fall to the floor and he slouched in the chair, a deep, rasping laugh rumbling through him as he sneered at Hawke through half-closed eyes.

"You're not a very nice person, you know that?" Hawke accused. Fenris's laughter halted.

"Neither are you," he answered.

"I won't argue with you there."

"What do you _want_?" Fenris asked irascibly.

"I came to see if you were all right, if you must know, and it's a good job I did. What are you trying to do, kill yourself? An elf can't take that much wine; I knew elves in Lothering, and one bottle would have put them on the floor!"

"You'd be surprised at what my body can take," slurred the elf, glancing at his lyrium-branded arms. "It took Danarius two days and two nights to burn the lyrium into my flesh, and the pain was indescribable. And yet I still live. I still live! Adhuc sto!" he proclaimed, before his eyes closed and his head slumped to one side.

"Yes, adhuc sto, whatever the hell that means," mumbled Hawke, rolling his eyes. "Fenris. Fenris!"

"Uh?"

"Is there any food in this house?"

Fenris sighed and slowly opened his eyes, as though it took all of his strength to do so. "There are biscuits."

"_Biscuits_? Is that what you've been living on?"

"I happen to _like _biscuits," growled Fenris.

Hawke laughed suddenly, partly out of relief that Fenris had enough strength to glare at him. "I'm going to the kitchen to see if there's any _proper _food still here. Where is it?" Hawke asked, still chuckling.

"Find it yourself," came the terse reply.

"Fine. Just stay there until I get back."

"I do not take orders from _you_!" Fenris roared, and then his body slumped once again, his strength finally depleted.

"All right, then; get up, slip on your own vomit and crack your head open. That would be a dignified way to go, wouldn't it?" answered Hawke, without malice, as he left the room.

Remembering the location of the scullery when they'd cleared the mansion of abominations, Hawke headed in that direction, and found the kitchen located not far from it. Within, he found several dried goods which were still safe to use, and decided that porridge was the safest bet. Although there was dried milk in the kitchen, as a healer, Hawke knew that milk would probably irritate Fenris's stomach, and so made it with water, adding a generous dollop of honey to sweeten it. He also made a cup of sweet tea, without milk, and placed everything on a tray which he carried up to Fenris's room.

Fenris, who was now awake but still slumped on the settee, watched Hawke curiously as he entered and placed the tray on the small table next to the window.

"Porridge," Hawked explained, and walked over to Fenris, offering his hand.

"I do not need your help," Fenris grumbled, pulling his arms against his chest.

"Go on then, get up by yourself."

"I am not hungry."

"If you don't sit at that table and eat, I'll pour it down your throat, just like I did with the water," threatened Hawke.

Fenris's nose wrinkled and his lip curled into a sneer. "Who do you think you are?"

Hawke shrugged. "I don't think I'm anybody." He gestured towards the table. "Come on; it'll get cold."

Fenris glanced warily at him, and then towards the table. Upon spotting the steaming bowl, his stomach growled loudly.

"You _are _hungry, you bloody liar!" laughed Hawke.

A sour-faced Fenris began to push himself up, and managed to stand, but as he did so he clutched at his head and grimaced.

"Fenris…this is just a suggestion, but I _could_ cast a spell that would make you feel more alert."

"No!" barked Fenris, and then his shoulders slumped and he closed his eyes, quickly opening them, and he blinked several times, holding his hands out in front of him.

"Dizzy?" asked Hawke, and he held his arm out in front of the elf. "The table's just a few steps away. You can hold my arm, _if _you want to."

Fenris looked at Hawke's arm, and then Hawke's face. "No, I can manage," he said quietly, and slowly walked over to the table with admirable dignity. Hawke pulled the chair out and Fenris gave him a wary glance before taking a seat. "Why are you…?" he began, and then sighed.

"Just eat up," Hawke instructed. "I'll be back in a minute."

Hawke left the room and returned a short time later carrying two wooden pails, with a scrubbing brush and a bar of lye soap under each arm.

"Have you eaten that porridge yet?" he asked sternly. Fenris showed him the empty bowl, which had been licked clean.

"I see you like porridge as well as biscuits," said Hawke, smiling, as he placed the pails on the floor.

"It is similar to gruel, but is much more…palatable."

"Gruel?" Hawke exclaimed. "Bloody hell. Was that…" He paused, unsure whether it would be wise to probe Fenris about his past. "I've been told I make pretty decent porridge. It's even nicer with milk." He picked up one of the pails and threw the hot water within onto the floor.

"What are you doing?" asked Fenris.

"This room will stink if this sick isn't cleaned up," he explained as he rolled up his sleeves, got onto all fours and began scrubbing.

"You…you do not need to do that," said Fenris. "That is a servant's work."

"Look," said Hawke, glancing up. "I grew up on a farm in Lothering: we didn't _have _servants, and everyone had to pull their weight."

"I-I should assist," Fenris said, pushing his chair back.

"Just stay where you are," ordered Hawke. "You barely have enough strength to hold yourself up. I'll have this done in a jiffy."

Fenris watched, feeling ashamed, as Hawke made short work of scrubbing the stone floor. Feeling uncomfortable with the silence, he tried to make conversation. "Was it…was it hard work on your farm?" he asked.

Hawke wiped the sweat from his brow and looked up. "Sometimes it was back-breaking, especially during the harvests. Father, Carver and I would be out in the fields from sunrise to sunset some days." He sat back on his knees and looked at the far wall for a moment. "I'd give anything to go back, though." He sighed and resumed his task.

"Carver is…your brother?" asked Fenris.

"Was."

"Oh. I did not mean to…"

"It's all right, Fenris. Do _you_ have any family?" asked Hawke.

Fenris was silent for a moment, and Hawke heard a sigh. "I…do not know. I do not remember."

Hawke sat up again and watched Fenris, who had turned his back on him. "I remember you saying you'd lost your memory after getting the lyrium markings." Fenris nodded, but didn't speak. Hawke stood up and looked around the room. "Fenris, can I have that tapestry on the wall?" he asked.

Fenris turned around, puzzled. "Yes, if you wish."

"Thank you." Hawke pulled the tapestry from the wall and threw it onto the floor. He then knelt down again and began mopping up the soap and vomit. "So, erm…if you don't mind me asking, how long has it been since you remember anything?" he asked Fenris.

"My first memory is of receiving these markings," he answered. "That was three-and-a-half years ago."

Hawke halted and once again sat back on his heels. "You remember nothing else before that?"

"No."

"I'm…sorry, Fenris."

A heavy silence descended. Hawke finished mopping the floor and bundled the empty wine bottles in the tapestry, tying a knot in it. He then placed the makeshift sack outside the room, and threw the other pail of water over the floor. "It's a warm day," said Hawke. "This'll dry in no time." He took the empty pails and left the room again, returning ten minutes later to find Fenris on his feet, tidying the room.

"Here; I brought some biscuits up for you," said Hawke, placing them on the table.

Fenris looked at him with a puzzled expression. "Why…why are you doing this?"

"Why not?" asked Hawke, equally puzzled.

"I have done no service for you."

"Of course you have, Fenris; you've helped me out a few times."

"But you have paid me for that."

Hawke shrugged his shoulders. "Look, this is what friends do for each other; help each other out when they're in trouble."

"But…you are not my friend," answered Fenris.

"I'd like to be."

"Why?" Fenris asked suspiciously. "You already have friends."

"I could always use one more," replied Hawke. "And, I suspect, so could you."

"I have managed without friends thus far," Fenris said in a cold tone.

"Well, you must have been very lonely, then."

Having no answer to that, Fenris continued to busy himself with straightening the room out.

Hawke wrinkled his nose and sniffed at his shirt. "Great, now I smell of elf vomit."

Fenris cocked an eyebrow and glanced at him. "Elf vomit smells no worse than human vomit."

"Wanna bet?"

"I do not gamble," answered Fenris, and Hawke burst out laughing.

"I've got to go; Varric and I are going to The Gallows."

"The Gallows?" asked Fenris. "Is that not a risk for one such as yourself?"

"Why do you think I'm dressed like such a twat?"

"I am not familiar with that expression," said Fenris, and Hawke could have sworn that the edge of Fenris's mouth twitched slightly.

"Stick with us, and you'll hear it a lot. I call Anders a twat all the time. Anyway, I'd better get going. I'll be back later to check on you, and if I find you in the same state again, I'll be very cross."

"You-you do not need to check on me," Fenris said.

"I'm coming back," Hawke insisted. "Get some rest." He headed for the door.

"Hawke…"

"Yes, Fenris?"

Fenris walked over to him and stopped a few feet away. "Your…arms."

"What about them?"

"I-I did not mean...Are they…?"

"Right as rain. My healing spell's pretty good."

"You are a healing mage, then?"

"Yes, although Anders is a much better healer than me; he had the education I didn't. I get by, though."

"And your sister? What manner of mage is she?"

"Oh, she can do all the exciting stuff, like command the elements and all that. I can manage a bit of flame, but she's brilliant." He lowered his voice and whispered conspiratorially. "Between you and me, though, her healing's crap."

Fenris nodded, an expression on his face that Hawke hadn't seen before: almost a smile, but not quite.

"Well, I'll see you later. Answer this time when I knock, won't you?" Hawke exited the room and headed for the stairs.

"Yes, I will. Farewell."


	10. Chapter 10

_Oops! It seems I left my notes on this chapter at the end of the last chapter, so most of you will already know what's going to happen. Apologies for that, and I hope you'll still have a look through this chapter :-)_

~o~O~o~

"You're sure you don't need to go home and bathe, first?" asked Varric as he and Hawke climbed aboard the small boat that would take them to The Gallows. He leaned in closer and sniffed at Hawke's shirt, wincing and backing away a step, causing the boat to wobble slightly. "What _is _that smell?"

"The latest perfume from Orlais," replied Hawke with a grin. Varric noted that Hawke had been considerably cheerier since returning from his mysterious errand.

"Really? Smells like vomit, to me."

"Clearly, Varric, you're not familiar with Orlesian perfumes."

"Oh, I am, Hawke, and that _can't _be Orlesian: Orlesian scents are usually _far_ more offensive to the nose."

As the boat got underway, Hawke glanced at the minacious-looking fortress that lay ahead. He'd glimpsed at it once or twice from a distance but had chosen to ignore it, and its significance, deciding he had enough problems of his own to contend with.

"So, where did you go?" Varric asked with a nonchalance that didn't fool Hawke for one second.

"I went to see Fenris, actually."

"Oh? Is he ok?"

"Mm-hm."

"Think he'll still work with us?"

"I'm not sure," said Hawke thoughtfully. "I hope so; like you said, we need him."

"Hm," Varric mumbled, looking up at Hawke with a curious gleam in his eyes. "I think _someone_ needs him, anyway."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Hawke.

"Well, as you're not carrying that giant stick of yours today, I guess I can get away with saying it: you're different when he's around."

"_Different_? How am I different?"

Varric sighed and paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "You'd…be the first to admit that you can be…grouchy sometimes, wouldn't you?"

"Varric, about that; I don't mean…"

"Uh-uh," Varric chided, holding his hands up. "I'm not looking for an apology, here; the grouchiness is part of your unique charm, after all. All I'm saying is, you seem…I dunno, _less_ grouchy when he's around. Just an observation."

"Don't you believe it," laughed Hawke, amused that Varric considered him in any way charming. "Things were decidedly frosty between us after I refused to turn Feynriel over to the Templars."

"You still went to visit him, though," observed Varric.

Hawke tugged at his collar and fidgeted. "Yes, well, as I said before, we need him. You said that yourself, Varric, remember?"

"I did," Varric agreed. "I'm just wondering if you've finally found that asshole you were looking for."

Hawke stared at the dwarf blankly. "What in the blazes are you talking about, Varric?"

"You said that everyone needs an asshole in their life; someone who'll keep them on the straight and narrow, and that you were missing said asshole."

Hawke looked at Varric as though he'd grown an extra head. "_I_ said that I need an 'arsehole'? And when exactly did I say that?"

"Funnily enough, it was the very night we met the elf. You were three sheets to the wind at the time, but you said it, all right."

"You're putting me on."

Varric shook his head and grinned. "Nice try, but Blondie was there as well; he'll back me up."

"Well, he _would_."

Varric cleared his throat and stretched his arms above his head, a clear indication to Hawke that he was after something. "Anyway, Hawke, as you're in a good mood…"

"Uh-oh; I don't like the sound of this," said Hawke, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

"Well, you know I did a favour for you, and saved you the bother of talking to Aveline?"

"…Yes?"

"Well, she kinda wants our help with a little problem tonight."

"A problem? What sort of problem?"

"Well, she got word of a possible caravan raid, and wants a few heavies to help out."

"Varric," Hawke said in a hard tone, "Aveline is a city _guard_. She's surrounded by _other _city guards. Isn't that their job?"

"Normally, yes," replied Varric. "Thing is, she, erm, got the news of the raid through…unofficial channels."

Hawke folded his arms and narrowed his eyes. "And would these 'unofficial channels' happen to be about 4'6" tall with chest hair that small animals could hibernate in?"

"Don't forget handsome, witty and cunning," answered Varric.

"I hate you, Dwarf," pouted Hawke.

"Come on, it'll be fun!" urged Varric, nudging Hawke with his elbow. "Bring the elf along; it'll get him out of that mansion for a couple of hours."

"Wait…we're supposed to be helping Isabela tonight, remember? We can't be in two places at once," said Hawke with a crafty smile. "Tell you what: you, Anders and Beth go and sort out Aveline, and I'll take Fenris to the chantry with Isabela. That way, we both have a healer in tow."

"Sorry, Hawke," replied Varric, shaking his head. "Aveline asked _specifically _for you."

Hawke's face slackened and he groaned. "Why? What does she want with me?"

"Search me," Varric answered with a shrug. "Just…try and be nice to her, huh? Even if you have to pretend. Just like we're gonna pretend to be nice to these Templars. Think of the coin, Hawke."

"Being nice to someone for money? There's a name for that, you know."

"You don't have to be _that _nice," laughed Varric.

"Oh, all right," Hawke reluctantly agreed. "Where's this raid supposed to be taking place, then?"

"Somewhere along the Wounded C…"

"The Wounded Coast? We've only just got back from there! It's bloody miles out!"

"Hawke, you really have to start seeing the silver lining. Weren't you saying just the other day that you're getting podgy? Just think of the exercise, and all that fresh air! And it won't cost you a thing!"

"You're a manipulative sod, you know that?" accused a frowning Hawke as the boat drew near to The Gallows.

"The word, my friend, is _cunning_. Now, come on; put on your most charming smile: we've a knight-captain to fleece."

As they disembarked, they were greeted by the standard two-templar welcoming party.

"Varric Tethras, here for Knight-Captain Cullen," Varric announced before they could speak. "We are expected."

One of them grunted and headed back inside, while his partner folded his arms and looked Varric and Hawke up and down. "Can you smell sick?" he asked Hawke.

"No," was the blunt reply.

They waited in silence for a moment until the other templar reappeared and summoned them inside. They were led through the courtyard and around a corner; as they walked, Hawke looked up at the barred windows of the fortress in dismay. "Anders has _got_ to see this place," he mumbled to himself. "If he thought the Circle Tower in Ferelden was bad…"

"Knight-Captain, Varric Tethras and…someone else to see you," announced their escort as they stopped in front of a red-headed templar.

"Thank you. That will be all," said Cullen. He waited for his colleague to depart before addressing his guests.

"Messeres Tethras and Hawke," he said cordially, shaking Varric's hand and offering his to Hawke, who cautiously shook it and nodded once. "I am glad you received my letter. Once again, I apologise for not being able to travel over to the mainland; my duties here allow little spare time." He released Hawke's hand and pointed to the other side of the courtyard; Hawke and Varric turned around to look, and spotted the young templar they'd rescued from the blood mages chatting to a merchant.

"As you can see, Ser Keran is well, thanks to you, although he is under constant surveillance, as we are uncertain as to whether he sustained any…lingering after-effects from his ordeal."

"He's not possessed," Hawke said with certainty.

Cullen's eyes narrowed a little. "Oh? And what makes you so sure of that?"

"I have it on very good authority that he resisted all offers the demons made. You have no need to watch him," answered Hawke.

"_Authority_? Can you elaborate?" asked Cullen, frowning.

"No."

"I see." Cullen watched Hawke for a moment, and then sighed. "Well, perhaps we could go a little easier on the lad; we must still be vigilant, however."

"What became of the blood mages?" asked Hawke.

"Tarohne was executed," he replied matter-of-factly. "She was clearly in league with several demonic creatures. Her henchmen were made Tranquil. They now work in the Templars' armoury."

Hawke nodded, and shifted uncomfortably.

"Well, you are here for your reward, no doubt," said Cullen, producing a small bag of monies, which Varric took, weighing it in his palm. "The Templar Order is indebted to you for your service, and I hope that in the future we may work together again."

Varric flashed a cheesy grin, most satisfied with the weight of the purse. "Oh, I think we can come to an arrangement, wouldn't you say, Hawke?"

"There are certain things I won't do," Hawke told Cullen. "I'm not going to capture or squeal on apostates for you."

Cullen nodded. "Your own status as an apostate makes that understandable."

"Is that a threat?"

"No, you misunderstand me, Messere Hawke. Your friend here," he said, pointing at Varric, "is aware that we employ certain…parties, strictly off the books, you understand. Some of them inform us of the whereabouts of apostates, and some don't." He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "The Knight-Commander is completely unaware of this. She would not approve."

"You mean you employ apostates who tell you where _other_ apostates are?" Hawke asked in disbelief.

Cullen shrugged. "I can see how you would find such actions distasteful, but there it is. Apostates tend to respond more favourably towards fellow mages than they would a visit from us."

"I think we're done here, Varric," Hawke said superciliously, his eyes still on Cullen.

"Wait," said Varric. "There's one more thing we need," he said to Cullen.

"Oh? And what would that be?" asked the knight-captain.

"Oh, yes," Hawke interjected. "I have a friend whose…_status_ is similar to mine. I believe your men are aware of him, but do not know exactly where he is. I want him left alone, _and _I want him to be able to walk freely around Kirkwall, and here."

Cullen took a deep breath, and, for a moment, didn't answer. "You ask a great deal of me, Messere Hawke; perhaps too much."

"Take it or leave it," Hawke answered gruffly. "You're getting a lot more out of this deal than we are. Throwing a few coins at us is a drop in the ocean to the Chantry."

Varric's eyes darted between the two men as they stared at each other for a long moment. Finally, Cullen looked away.

"I will make this concession, once and once only," insisted Cullen. "If you ask me to 'look the other way' again, you will be disappointed with my answer."

"Fair enough," said Hawke.

"Who is this…person?" Cullen asked.

"His given name is Anders. I don't actually know if he has a second name."

Cullen raised his eyebrows. "So it _is _true…I've suspected he was in Kirkwall for a long time; there have been sightings, but nothing concrete up until now. He was one of the Circle Tower's most notorious apostates."

"He's also a Grey Warden," Hawke reminded him.

"That means nothing here," Cullen answered. "It will be difficult to convince my men to leave him alone."

"You are their captain, are you not?" asked Hawke. "You issue an order, they obey; simple as that."

Cullen nodded. "I will do my best. And, if you do bring Anders here, I must ask that…"

"No robes, no staff. Got it," answered Hawke, taking a step closer to Cullen. "Just make sure your men _do_ obey your orders, or your knight-commander's ignorance of certain matters will come to an end. Just so we understand each other."

Cullen nodded. "We do."

"Then you have yourself a deal." Hawke extended his hand, and this time it was Cullen who reacted hesitantly, tentatively taking Hawke's hand and shaking it.

"Just one thing," said Cullen as Hawke turned to leave, his voice taking on a hard edge. "I am aware than an operation to capture Anders, or at least someone matching his description, was conducted several weeks ago. The men who were to make the arrest were found dead in the chantry the following morning. They had been butchered. Would you happen to know anything about that?"

"I may have _heard_ about that, yes," answered Hawke, his expression blank.

"And did you also _hear_ if Anders was responsible for their deaths?"

"Anders did _not_ kill those templars. On that, you have my word."

A thick, uncomfortable silence hung between the two men, which was eventually broken by Varric, who seized Hawke's arm. "Well, we must be making tracks. Nice to see you again, Knight-Captain."

Cullen could only watch as his guests headed towards the gate.

"Nicely played, Hawke!" Varric exclaimed with a hefty slap to Hawke's back as they boarded the boat. "Looks like your stint at the Varric Tethras School of Cunning didn't go to waste!"

"I'm not aware of having attended that school," Hawke answered.

"Did I say I was cunning?"

"That's one word for it, yes. How much money did we get?"

Varric opened the purse and peered inside. "Just as I thought. Seven sovereigns!"

"Seven?" Hawke pushed out his lower lip and raised his eyebrows. "Well, how about one apiece and two for the kitty?"

"Sounds good to me, Hawke. Hey, erm…I noticed you didn't mention Sunshine to that Cullen guy. You could have negotiated for her to enter The Gallows as well, you know. I think you could have cracked him."

Hawke shook his head firmly. "I don't trust that Cullen as far as I could throw him. He quite happily deals with apostates who are willing sell out their kin, and then, in the blink of an eye, executes and tranquils others. I know that Tarohne was mental, but still…well, I couldn't do his job, that's for sure." He shook his head again. "Bethany's not setting foot in that place."

"I dunno, Hawke; it just seems like he's trying to do his job under difficult circumstances. I would have thought that Blondie would be more at risk going there, anyhow."

"Anders _wants _to go," countered Hawke, "and he's a grown man. He can look after himself."

"So can Sunshine, Hawke. I'm just saying."

Hawke glanced at Varric and sighed. "I know that, but I'm _not_ losing _her _as well."

Varric nodded and clapped Hawke on the arm, and they sat back in the boat as they were rowed across to the mainland.

~o~O~o~

As Varric had one or two people to see, it was almost lunchtime when he and Hawke arrived back at the Hanged Man. As they entered, they were surprised to find a forlorn-looking Anders propping up the bar.

"Two more ales," he said to the ever-present Corff upon spotting the new arrivals.

"Not for me," said Hawke, arriving at his side. "What's the matter with you? And where's Bethany?"

Anders huffed and shook his head. "Your sister _insisted _I go along to Merrill's with her after we'd spoken to Feynriel's mother. I was willing to go along with that, for Bethany's sake, but once we were inside, they all started talking about…girly things."

"Girly things? Like what?" laughed Hawke.

Anders screwed his face up and pouted. "Well, Isabela started giving Merrill tips on 'lift', whatever that is, and then she started grabbing Merrill's…" he lowered his voice to a whisper, "…_boobs_ and…well, pushing them up."

Hawke and Varric burst out laughing. "Sounds like a dream come true to me, Blondie!" chortled Varric.

"Well, it wasn't," Anders said indignantly. "It was just…disturbing. And then they all started cackling like geese. I made an excuse and left; I don't think they even noticed."

"Aw," commiserated Hawke, patting Anders' cheek. "Were the nasty women paying no attention to you?"

"Sod off, you," Anders groused, passing Varric his pint.

"Well, I do have some good news," said Hawke, still laughing. "The next time I go to The Gallows, you can come along. You've been wanting to see it, haven't you?"

"Eh? How did you manage that?"

"I had a friendly chat with a nice man named Cullen. We…negotiated."

"Cullen?" asked Anders. "There was a templar at the Circle Tower named Cullen."

"Must be the same one; he said he remembered you. What's he like?"

"He was always pretty decent, from what I remember," Anders said thoughtfully. "Bit of a soft touch."

"See? I told you," said Varric.

"Well, we'll see," Hawke replied. "The bad news, Anders, is that you have to dress like _this_," he said, pointing to himself. "No robes and no staff."

Anders shrugged his shoulders. "That's all right; I'm used to wearing trousers from when I was on the run, although I think I can find something a bit more modern than…_those_ things." Anders moved a little closer to Hawke and sniffed the air. "Blimey, Hawke; you smell a bit ripe."

"Yes, I know; I'm going home to change. I probably won't be back until later," he said, turning to Varric.

"Come on then, Blondie; let's grab a bite and I'll tell you all about our plans for tonight."

"Aren't we going to help Isabela out? Assuming we can prise her away from Merrill's _boobs_, of course."

"Oh, yeah, _we _are," Varric said to Anders with a sly glance at Hawke, "but _Aveline _has other plans for Hawke."

It was Anders's turn to laugh as Hawke cast Varric a look that would curdle milk, and left the pub in a huff.

~o~O~o~

After having a bath at home, Hawke slipped on a robe and breathed a sigh of relief as he no longer had to wear those confining trousers. Making his way to the kitchen, he found Leandra hard at work, cooking.

"Mother, that smells absolutely divine," he complimented her, kissing her on the cheek. "What are you baking?"

"I'm glad that _you _smell a little more pleasant yourself, dear; do I even want to know what you've been up to?"

"Probably not," he answered with a cheeky smile.

Leandra shook her head indulgently and pointed to the worktop. "I've made a huge fish pie with the fish you brought me from the docks, and I have cheese scones and biscuits in the oven."

"Biscuits?" Hawke asked, an idea forming in his mind. "What kind?"

"Two kinds," the skilled cook answered. "Shortbread and ginger snaps."

"Mother," Hawke said, grinning impishly, "you know how you're the best mother in the whole wide world…?"

Leandra folded her arms and tilted her head to one side. "What are you after?"

"Me, Mother?" he asked innocently, batting his eyelashes for effect. "Well, you _always _make too many biscuits, don't you?"

"Yes, but they never go to waste, do they?" she answered, prodding Hawke's belly with her finger. "They always seem to get eaten by _someone_."

Hawke stared at her finger disparagingly and shook his head. "I blame that Gamlen, myself. Anyway, I have a friend who likes biscuits, and I thought I'd take him a couple of yours to try out?"

"A _friend_?" Leandra asked with a bright smile.

"No, it's not like _that_, Mother. He's just…well, he's not looking after himself properly." Hawke shrugged and turned away from Leandra, absent-mindedly wiping the worktop with a cloth. "He's very mistrustful of people and I thought that if I showed him a little kindness, he might open up a bit, that's all. It's a shame; I think he's had a very hard life."

"Darling," said Leandra proudly, "You are as kind-hearted as the day is long. Just like your father was."

"Don't you _dare_ tell anyone," Hawke muttered with a sidelong glance at Leandra.

"Your secret is safe with me," she promised. "Now, let's see what we can find for your friend."

~o~O~o~

For the second time that day, Hawke found himself in the courtyard of Danrius's mansion, but this time he was dressed more comfortably and he carried a small jute sack that his mother had filled with various goodies for Fenris to sample.

His nervous complaint had returned; his stomach had been tied in knots since leaving home, but the tension he'd previously felt in his neck and shoulders had eased. Once again he hesitated as he glanced up at the front aspect of the mansion. He always felt uneasy when he came here, but not because of Fenris; there was an unwelcoming, menacing air about the place.

He caught his reflection in one of the lower windows and, straightening his robe out, considered his appearance for a moment. His hair was freshly washed; he'd also trimmed his beard and was wearing one of his best robes. In his hand, he carried a bag full of food. He sighed and shook his head.

"Maker's breath, Fletcher, what are you doing?" he asked himself. "He's going to think you're after him, or something!"

Annoyed with himself, he turned to leave, and had just reached the gate when he heard the creak of the front door opening.

"Hawke?"

Hawke's gut wrenched and he turned around. Fenris stood across the courtyard from him, looking puzzled.

"I saw you from one of the windows. You are…leaving?"

"Erm…" Hawke laughed nervously and walked over to the elf. "You see, the thing is, well…my mother always makes far too much food, so I thought I'd bring some over; it seemed like a good idea at the time, anyway. Then I got to thinking that maybe, uh, you might find that a bit, erm…condescending. Not that I consider myself in any way superior to you. Not-not at all. Erm…"

"You brought some food for me?"

"I just thought it would make a change from biscuits…and porridge. Although…there _are _biscuits in here," he said awkwardly, holding the bag up.

"That was thoughtful of you," said Fenris quietly, taking Hawke by surprise. "Well, come in."

Fenris entered first and Hawke followed, surprised again to see that the drapes in the vestibule had been opened and that much of the rubble that their fight against the abominations had caused, had been removed.

"I've been busy," Fenris explained, noticing Hawke's expression as they climbed up the stairs.

"So I see. Has your strength returned, then? Do you feel better?" asked Hawke.

Fenris paused on the landing and turned slightly towards Hawke. "Well, you left some porridge in a pan, and, after another two bowls of it," he began, causing Hawke to grin, "I felt more like myself, yes." He clasped his hands together and turned fully to face Hawke, although he didn't look at him, casting his eyes to one side. "I…wanted to thank you for…"

"There's no need," insisted Hawke. "Come on; let's see what my mother has put in here."

Upon entering the room where Fenris stayed, which had also been given a spruce-up, Hawke laid the sack on the table and untied it, spreading it contents on the table. "Now, let's see," he said, opening several items that had been wrapped in waxed paper. "Cheese scones, with a pat of butter…cold chicken, a jar of homemade chutney…" As he unwrapped the parcels, Fenris watched in fascination. "…Ah. Fish pie," said Hawke, unwrapping a dish containing enough for two. "You'll love this."

"This-this is too much," Fenris protested. "You should not have…"

"Like I said, Mother always makes too much, and I usually end up eating what's left." He patted his belly. "I used to be quite muscular, but since coming here…I'm getting fat, and I need to put a stop to it before it gets worse."

Fenris glanced at Hawke's chunky frame before looking back at the table. "Perhaps you could go for runs?" he suggested.

"I _could_, but there's a slight snag to that plan."

"And what is that?"

"I'm a shiftless bastard, that's what."

Fenris's lips twitched slightly. "I can see how that would be a drawback."

Hawke laughed. "Well, I suggest we have the fish pie now, and you keep the chicken for later. Store it somewhere cool." He opened the last package and presented it to Fenris. "Biscuits."

Fenris looked at Hawke briefly, and then his brow furrowed as he examined Leandra's biscuits. "What are these?" he asked.

"Shortbread. Have you never tried it?" Fenris shook his head. "Go on, have a piece."

Fenris hesitantly took a piece, and Hawke noticed how dainty his hands were without his gauntlets on, and wondered how he managed to hold his huge sword with such apparent ease. He also noticed that the lyrium markings extended all the way to Fenris's fingertips.

Fenris concentrated on the bite in his mouth, and, after a moment, he looked at Hawke, his eyes widening.

"I think you like it," said Hawke.

"It tastes of butter," Fenris noted, looking back down at his hand. "It is…delicious."

"No one makes shortbread like my mother," Hawke boasted. "Although she can't compete with my porridge."

"As I have not yet sampled your mother's porridge, I am in no position to comment."

"That's quite true," replied Hawke. "Now, I think we could do with some cutlery…and plates, if you have any, although we can get by without them."

"I shall fetch some from the kitchen," said Fenris, and he headed to the door.

"Oh, Fenris? How about a drink? Tea might be the best bet."

A small, almost shy smile graced Fenris's lips, and he nodded. "No doubt you are correct. I shall return shortly."

Once the tea and cutlery, but no plates, had been brought up, Fenris and Hawke sat at the table and shared the fish pie and Leandra's shortbread. Hawke let Fenris have most of that, claiming not to like it very much.

"Fenris, there was a reason I came to see you this morning," he began. "I, um, I wanted to talk to you about what happened with Feynriel."

Fenris sighed quietly and looked out of the window.

"I know you didn't agree with what I did, and I know I may have been a little…belligerent. I wanted you to know that I didn't just dismiss your opinion off-hand. I _did _think about what you said, but I just wanted to give the boy a chance."

Fenris looked back at Hawke. "My assessment of the situation was that you sided with your fellow mage."

"No," replied Hawke, shaking his head. "Anders wanted to let him go, and I didn't agree with that, either. I thought you were both wrong."

"Then you have appointed yourself arbiter of all decisions within your group?" asked Fenris, although there was no hostility in his question.

"No, not at all…I was just trying to find a balance. What was happening to the boy was not his fault, and he had clearly fought against the demons for a long time. I believe that Keeper Marethari can help him. The Templars would have made him tranquil and that would have been a senseless waste of a young life."

Fenris nodded. "As a mage, you would undoubtedly have a different viewpoint on the matter. I still believe you were wrong, however."

"And that's fine," replied Hawke with a shrug. "I don't expect everyone to agree with me on everything, and I don't believe myself to be all-knowing. I've made some mistakes in my time, I can tell you." Hawke fell silent and sipped at his tea.

"I am certain this will not be the only matter upon which we disagree," said Fenris after a moment.

Hawke put his cup down on the table. "So…you still want to work with us, then?"

Fenris nodded. "Yes…although at this moment I have no idea why."

"That's great!" Hawke said enthusiastically. "Well, if you're feeling up to it, we do have a job tonight; well, two, actually. I was thinking that you and I could do one, and the others could do…well, the other."

Fenris folded his arms and cocked a dark eyebrow. "It seems to me that you already had this planned."

"I-I might have…pencilled you in, just on the off-chance that you agreed," Hawke stammered, feeling a blush creep into his cheeks. "The food was in no way a bribe. Not at all."

To his relief and delight, Fenris chuckled as a wide grin lit up his face.

"We'll have to go to the Guard barracks and see someone I know named Aveline. She'll probably be coming with us; we need to go back to the Wounded Coast." Noticing Fenris fidget in his chair, he quickly added, "Although we won't be hanging around there or going to sleep or anything; we'll come straight back, no matter how late it is."

Hawke heard Fenris taking a slow, deep breath. "Very well; I will go with you," he agreed.

"Thank you, Fenris. I appreciate it."

The two men finished off their meal in silence, and Hawke began to feel nervous again as he considered asking Fenris about his dream, but guessed that perhaps he didn't know Fenris well enough yet for that, and decided to broach the subject in a roundabout way.

"Fenris…is there…anything you'd like to talk about?" he asked quietly.

"No, I don't think so," Fenris answered quickly, as though he'd been expecting the question.

Hawke nodded and shrugged apologetically. "Well…I just wanted you to know, if ever…you know. You know where I am." He stood and began to clear away the contents of the table. "If you feel like it, why don't we visit the barracks now? It's not very far, and then we'll know what's what."

"Yes," Fenris agreed, and also stood. "Hawke…would you extend my gratitude to your mother? That was the finest meal I can remember eating, perhaps the finest I've ever eaten."

"All right, but you still haven't tasted my porridge made with _milk_. Don't get making such bold proclamations until you've tried _that_."

"In that case, I look forward to sampling it one day," Fenris replied, and Hawke once again noticed a shy smile on the elf's lips.

"After you, Fenris," said Hawke, and they left the room, and made their way to the barracks.


	11. Chapter 11

As he and Fenris made their way through Hightown toward the Viscount's Keep, Hawke noticed that they were receiving quite a few odd looks from the nobles they passed on the way. As they neared the Keep, however, it became apparent to Hawke that those looks were not directed to them as a couple, but rather solely at Fenris. If his companion noticed at all, he gave no sign; Hawke, on the other hand, began to feel quite uncomfortable, and wondered if the nobles' scrutiny was because of Fenris's markings, or, more likely, simply because he was an elf.

Whatever the reason, Hawke considered the nobles downright rude, and began to return their stares with a scowl. Fenris eventually noticed this, a wry smile forming on his lips.

"I am accustomed to it," he said quietly. "Do not let it trouble you."

"It doesn't matter whether you're used to it or not," answered Hawke, loudly enough for a passing noble to hear. "It's bloody rude and there's no need for it."

"I _am _somewhat conspicuous, wouldn't you agree?" asked Fenris.

"I got the same treatment the very first time I came here," said Hawke as they neared the huge iron doors to the Keep. "I was dressed rather shabbily and every one of these bastards looked down their noses at me. Now that I can afford decent clothing and my hair isn't like a bird's nest, I look just like the rest of them. Perhaps it's not a bad thing to be conspicuous; who wants to look the same as everyone else?"

"I am not in need of reassurance, though I appreciate the sentiment," Fenris replied. "Their opinion means nothing to me."

"Well, good," said Hawke as they stopped and waited in line for entrance into the Keep. Soon, they reached the head of the queue, and a bored-looking guard addressed them.

"The Viscount does not see anyone without an appointment," he declared in a weary monotone, as though he'd repeated those word countless times. "To make an appointment, you'll need to talk to Seneschal Bran, and you'll need an appointment to see _him_, as well."

"No, we're here for Guard-Lieutenant Aveline," Hawke told the guard. "She should be expecting us."

"Name?"

"Hawke."

The guard looked down a scroll and nodded. "Yes, Hawke. What about the elf?"

"The elf _can _speak for himself, you know," growled Hawke.

"All right," said the guard, holding his hands up. "No need to get snotty with me. What's _your_ business here, Elf?"

"I'm with him," answered Fenris, nodding at Hawke.

The guard glanced at both of them, and then nodded. "All right, you can enter. Don't get causing no trouble, though."

"And just why would we cause trouble?" demanded Hawke, bristling. A small hand touched his back and gently pushed him forward through the doors, and it wasn't until they were inside that Hawke realised that Fenris had actually touched him.

He stopped and glanced at Fenris momentarily before they stepped into the grandly-appointed reception area. Several more nobles and guards were there, and most of the nobles seemed too busy complaining to take much notice of Fenris, which came as a relief to Hawke. At the top of the stairs, an auburn-haired man wearing red clothing looked harassed as several nobles petitioned him for an audience with the Viscount.

"It's this way," Hawke said, pointing to the right-hand set of stairs. They ascended and made their way through several corridors, passing many guards on the way. As they turned a corner, Hawke halted and took a deep breath.

"Is something amiss?" asked Fenris.

"No," Hawke answered immediately. "Well, yes. You see…Aveline and I don't exactly get on," he explained. "I haven't seen her for a while."

"That would explain _my_ presence, then," answered Fenris.

"No, I'm not scared of her or anything," Hawke laughed nervously. "It's just…well, it's complicated." He sighed. "Perhaps _I've _made it complicated, I don't know…"

"You were involved with her, then?"

"What? No! No…I, erm, well, I-I don't go for women in that way."

Fenris nodded slowly, and neither of them spoke for a moment. "Well, let's get this over with," said Hawke eventually, and they entered the barracks, where several more guards stood around, awaiting assignments.

"There she is." Hawke pointed out a ginger-haired woman who was surrounded by several men as she gave them their orders for the day.

"She is rather tall," observed Fenris.

"Yes, she is." Hawke grinned, and then walked forward, taking a deep breath. "Here goes."

"Hawke," she said upon noticing the two men. "Was beginning to think you wouldn't show." She dismissed the rest of the guards and crossed her arms.

"Aveline," Hawke replied briskly, not quite meeting her eyes.

"Who's your friend?" she asked.

Hawke remained silent and let the elf answer. "Fenris," he said with a nod.

"Good to meet you, Fenris." She jerked her head and led them over to a secluded corner. "You've been making quite a name for yourself, Hawke."

"_Have_ I?" he answered defensively.

"Yes, your name crops up in my reports all the time; the latest being that several slavers were left tied up on the beach for us while their ship burned. You did a good job there, Hawke, although your methods sometimes leave a lot to be desired; it'll cost the city a lot of money to clear the wreckage."

Hawke folded his own arms, his expression hard. "You wanted us for something?"

Aveline lowered her voice. "I've had word of a planned raid tonight. I need to take a few people along and put a stop to this gang; they've been a thorn in our sides for a long time."

"Isn't that what the city Guard is employed for?" asked Fenris, and Hawke nodded in agreement.

Aveline shook her head. "Only a single patrol is deployed along that stretch of the coast as it's normally so quiet, and the captain won't deploy more on the strength of a rumour. I know that something's going down, though, and I intend to put a stop to it. Varric's information has always been solid. Are you in? Once we put a stop to them, there's bound to be a reward."

"All right, Aveline. What time? Where?" asked Hawke.

"Thank you," she replied. "Meet me…well, you spend a lot of time at The Hanged Man, don't you? I'll meet you there at eight bells, and we'll go from there. Just don't get leathered, all right? We'll need to have our wits about us."

Hawke nodded and rolled his eyes. "Eight bells," he repeated as he walked away with Fenris following.

"What is the nature of the animosity between the two of you?" Fenris queried as they made their way out.

Hawke sighed and slowed his pace a little. "I first met her in Lothering; that's where I'm from, in Ferelden. That was when I lost my brother. She lost her husband, as well." Hawke fell silent, and could see from the corner of his eye that Fenris was watching him.

"Was she the cause of your brother's death?" Hawke remained silent, and Fenris noticed a faraway look in his eyes. "I-I should not pry. Forgive me."

"No…" Hawke came to a stop and ran his hand through his hair. "It's all right. I _used_ to think she was responsible, and I used to think _I _was responsible. I don't know, anymore; maybe it was just one of those things."

The two men continued to walk on, and reached the main reception area. "If I may ask…" ventured Fenris, "how did…"

"An Ogre killed him," answered Hawke. "It just…" He shook his head, the image of Carver's body being smashed upon the ground careering through his mind.

"I cannot imagine how that must have been for you. I am truly sorry," Fenris said quietly.

"Thank you."

"Were you and your brother alike?"

Hawke smiled and snorted softly. "We _looked_ a lot alike. He and Bethany were twins, but the only similarity they shared was their black hair. I was the odd one out; I got _this_ brown, tangled mess, courtesy of my father," he said, pointing to his thick, wavy hair. "I used to think that I was nothing like him, but since he died…it's almost as though the spirit of Carver lives on through me. _He_ was a prickly bastard, as well."

"None of us are perfect," said Fenris.

"I suppose not," Hawke answered with a smile. "Do you…have any plans for this afternoon? Fancy a pint?"

"A pint of what?"

"You _are_ joking, aren't you?" laughed Hawke. "You know, a pint? Of ale?"

"I do not drink ale," replied Fenris. "At least…I don't remember ever drinking it."

"They have wine, as well." Fenris glanced at Hawke and smiled ruefully. "They do decent lunches there, too…if you like stew, that is," Hawke finished.

"You would eat _again_? We ate less than an hour ago," Fenris pointed out.

"Hey, I'm a growing man!" protested Hawke.

"So you said earlier," Fenris said drily with a glance at Hawke's belly.

Hawke burst out laughing. "You could be right, there! Just an ale, then. Or wine, for you."

"Very well," Fenris accepted with a half-smile, which bloomed into a full one as Hawke continued to laugh. "Just the one."

"Or two," Hawke said very quietly. "And a spot of lunch."

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

Fenris cast a stern glance at Hawke, who started to snigger. Fenris shook his head, unable to completely supress his own smile, and the two of them headed for Lowtown.

~o~O~o~

The Hanged Man was almost full when they arrived back; several traders, and a few guards, were taking lunch. Hawke and Fenris stood at the entrance and, scanning the room, spotted their friends in two different places: a befuddled-looking Anders stood at the bar, flanked by Isabela and Merrill, and Varric and Bethany sat at a small table in a corner, eating.

"I think Varric's table looks safest, wouldn't you agree?" Hawke asked Fenris, who gave a sly nod.

"Hawke!" Anders called out, a hint of desperation in his voice, as they made their way over. "Good to see you, mate!"

"Oh, don't let me interrupt," Hawke said wickedly, and walked over to Varric and Bethany. "Are we intruding?" Hawke asked.

Varric shook his head, unable to answer as he had a mouth full of stew. He gestured to the edge of the table, and Hawke retrieved two chairs from a few that were stacked against the wall.

"Hello, Brother; hello, Fenris," Bethany greeted them as they sat down.

"Good afternoon, Bethany," Fenris politely replied.

Varric swallowed his mouthful, belched, and then apologised to Bethany. "So, how'd it go with Aveline?" he asked lightly. "Were you _nice _to her, like we agreed?"

"Like _you _agreed, you mean," answered Hawke. "I was _civil_ to her."

"Guess that's better than nothing," muttered Varric.

"She's meeting us here, tonight, at about eight. Fenris has very kindly volunteered to assist…"

"More like I was volunteered by Hawke," Fenris cut in, "but yes, I agreed."

Varric laughed as Hawke gave Fenris a mock-sour look, and he and Bethany exchanged a glance. "Sounds about right, to me. Will the two of you be enough? Daisy said she'd be happy to tag along with us."

"Well, we'll have Aveline with us, so we should be fine." Hawke was pleased that he and Fenris seemed to be getting along well, and didn't want that spoiled by the presence of a blood mage when they did the job with Aveline; a _known _blood mage, anyway. He glanced behind his shoulder to where Anders was standing with the two women. "Anders looks a bit bewildered; is he all right?"

Again, Varric laughed, along with Bethany. "He was a little snooty toward Daisy when the girls brought her back here, but the Rivaini was having none of it; she's practically forced the poor sap to talk to her. When we left them, they were giving him tips on _styling his hair_."

Hawke creased over with laughter, and then, feeling pity for his friend, wiped a tear from his eye and sat up. "The poor sod. I suppose I'd better rescue him. What are you having, Fenris?"

Fenris reached into a pocket in his breeches. "I will pay," he insisted.

Hawke waved his hand dismissively. "You can get the next round. What do you want, wine? Or do you fancy trying the ale?"

Fenris considered this for a moment. "Perhaps I will try the ale, for a change."

"Good man," said Hawke. "Varric? Any recommendations for beginners?"

"New to ale, huh?" asked Varric. "Hmm…well, you don't wanna drink _this_ crap," he said, pointing to his tankard. "It's a little rough. Sunshine, what's that stuff you drink?"

"This is golden bitter," she answered. "It's quite smooth, and you couldn't really get drunk on it, not unless you drank a whole keg of it. Would you like to try some?" she asked Fenris. "That way, if you don't like it, you won't have wasted any money."

"Erm, thank you," Fenris replied diffidently as Bethany pushed her tankard over to him. As he raised it to his lips, three pairs of eyes were fixed upon him, and he paused.

"Come on, now; don't crowd the man," Hawke remonstrated good-naturedly.

Fenris took a sip and his eyes fell to the table, as though considering the flavour. He then took another, and set the tankard down.

"Well?" asked Varric.

Fenris continued to stare at the table, and did not answer. "Elf?" Varric prompted, and looked at Hawke. "Either he really hates it, or it's so good he's lost for words."

"Fenris?" asked Hawke softly. "Are you…"

"I-I must go," Fenris said quickly, pushing himself up. "Thank you for the drink," he said to Bethany, and turned, heading for the exit without another word.

"What's gotten into _him_, Hawke?" demanded Varric.

"Maybe you should go after him, Brother," Bethany suggested.

Hawke hesitated for a moment, feeling his gut tighten. "Erm, yes, all right," he mumbled, and rose from his chair. "I'll be back in a bit."

"Hawke!" Anders called out to him as he walked past, and Hawke held his hand up, indicating he would be back soon. Stepping outside, he glanced around; Fenris was nowhere to be seen. He broke into a jog and headed for the steps leading to Hightown, cursing his lack of physical fitness as he began to climb them. After what seemed like hundreds of steps, he spotted Fenris, who was way ahead and taking the steps two at a time.

"Fenris!" he called breathlessly, to no answer. "Fenris, please! If I have to run up these steps after you, I'll drop down dead!"

Mercifully, Fenris stopped, slowly turned around and began to walk down the steps toward Hawke.

"Thank you!" gasped Hawke, sitting down on the small wall that ran alongside the steps.

"Are you all right?" Fenris asked.

"Yes, I will be, in a minute." Hawke panted, clutching at his side. "What's wrong, Fenris? Why did you leave so suddenly?"

For a moment, Fenris didn't answer, and eventually sat on the wall a few feet away from Hawke. "There is no excuse for my rudeness. I hope I did not offend your sister."

"No, you didn't; she was concerned about you, as am I."

Fenris nodded and closed his eyes, his shoulders sagging beneath an invisible weight. He opened his eyes and looked straight ahead, a pained expression on his face.

"That…wasn't the first time you've tried ale, was it?" Hawke guessed.

"I-I don't know," answered Fenris, his voice barely a whisper. "It…something…I-I…it is difficult to explain."

"Try," Hawke implored.

Fenris shifted a little and turned slightly toward Hawke, but didn't look at him. "I…heard music, and laughter. I saw…no, it is gone. I saw _someone_, but…"

"You _remember_ someone?" asked Hawke. "Try to think! Was it a man or a woman? Dark hair, light hair? Elf, human, dwarf?"

Fenris shook his head sadly. "It's gone…it was there for a second, but now…there is nothing."

"Fenris," said Hawke, "this means that you _are _capable of remembering! This is a very important moment for you!"

"But I don't remember now," Fenris said, his voice breaking, and Hawke looked at him, appalled.

"Fenris…come back to the Hanged Man with me. Try a bit more ale; it may help you to remember more."

"No!" he replied abruptly, standing up, his hand slicing through the air. "I will not be a subject of pity or ridicule to you and your friends."

Hawke also stood up. "My friends…_our _friends are not like that. And anyone who would dare to ridicule you will answer to _me_," he said fiercely.

A bitter laugh escaped Fenris's lips. "You have a stout heart, I'll give you that." He shook his head. "I will continue to work with you, but you should not pursue friendship with me. You have tried, and I am grateful for that, but I have been alone for three years, and perhaps that is for the best. I-I do not know how to function around other people. I will only cause offence."

"Don't you _dare_," growled Hawke. "If you think pushing me away is going to work, then you know nothing about me. Whether you like it or not, I'm your friend, now. You can feel sorry for yourself and drink yourself to oblivion all you like, but I am _still _going to be there to clean you up in the morning. I almost destroyed myself once, and I won't see the same happen to you."

Fenris stepped back, aware that Hawke was standing very close to him. He nodded and stared at the steps.

"Fenris," Hawke said, his voice softer. "I've _been_ there; all right, I haven't lived your life and I can't claim to know what you've been through, but I've been in a very lonely place a couple of times in my life, and I always had other people who were there for me. Without them…I would have cracked up. I can't force you to be my friend, but the demons that come in the middle of the night seem to have less power when you know there will be someone there for you in the morning. I speak from experience, trust me."

Despite the bustle of the people around them, a silence seemed to settle over the two men, removing them from everything else. Fenris slowly looked up and nodded again, and, as he met Hawke's eyes, Hawke's gut twisted.

"I will consider your words," said Fenris quietly. "For now, though, I wish to be alone."

"Are you going back to the mansion?"

"Yes."

"Will you promise me something?" Hawke requested.

"That depends."

"Promise me you won't get drunk."

Fenris blinked several times and took a deep breath, releasing it in a ragged burst. "I promise, Hawke."

"All right, I'll take you at your word. I'll see you tonight, at eight bells?"

"Yes," Fenris replied, and once again began to ascend the steps.

"Fenris," called Hawke, and the elf stopped, turning slightly. "If you're not there, I'll come looking for you."

Fenris nodded once, and Hawke sat back down on the wall, watching him until he was out of sight. He stayed there for a while, picking at his fingernails, until his stomach started to growl. He rose with difficulty, feeling a heaviness he was unaccustomed to, and wearily plodded down the steps.

When he arrived back at The Hanged Man, Isabela was waiting outside, hands on hips. "Was that the elf?" she demanded. "Why didn't you introduce us? I _told _you I like elves!"

Hawke shook his head and walked past her.

"Hey! I'm talking to you, Mister!" she continued as they both entered the pub. As soon as they walked into the lounge, Hawke was besieged by several people all at once.

"Where have you _been_? I need rescuing!" exclaimed Anders, as Merrill skipped up to Hawke.

"Ooh, Hawke! I'm going out tonight with some of the others, and we're going to clobber some thugs!" she sang. "I'm so excited, I feel like I'm going to pop!"

"Hawke," called Varric , who was leaning over a table talking with a well-known group of mercenaries. "We may have some business coming our way, soon."

"What about the _elf_?" Isabela exhorted. "When do I get to meet him?"

Then, like an angel sent from the Maker, Bethany pushed through and took Hawke's hand, leading him around the back of the pub and to Varric's room. She removed a cord from around her neck upon which hung a key, which she used to unlock the door, and they entered, their friends' protestations ringing in Hawke's ears.

"Thank you, Sister," said Hawke, closing the door, and then one of his eyebrows shot up. "Wait…you have a _key _to Varric's room?"

"Now, now, Brother; it's nothing sordid. Varric said I could use his room anytime I like, when he's not here. Sometimes I need a little break from home, especially when Gamlen starts, or when Mother is very down. I know that sounds selfish, but…"

"No, no it doesn't," Hawke said, concerned. "I'm sorry, Beth; I didn't realise things were getting to you so much."

"I'm fine, Brother," she reassured him with a shrug. "I know things get on top of you sometimes, and I have my moments as well. Sometimes I come here for a little cry. I don't want Mother to see that."

"Oh, Beth…" Hawke wrapped his arms around his sister and pulled her close; she snaked her arms around his waist and laid her head against his shoulder. "I'm so sorry. I get so bloody wrapped up in myself sometimes. It's not fair; he was your twin, after all."

"I'm all right, Fletcher; sometimes I just get homesick and I remember when we were all together, and I feel sad." She pulled away and looked up at him. "I'm a lot better than I used to be, though. Varric's a good man, you know; I cried in front of him once, and he didn't panic, or run away. He made me laugh," she said, smiling.

Hawke returned her smile and kissed the tip of her nose. "I'm very glad you have Varric; he _is _a good man. Just…don't be afraid to talk to me, all right? I know I'm not at home much, and I'm usually out gallivanting or getting drunk, but I'm always here for you, you know that, don't you?"

"I know, Brother," she replied, and hugged him again.

"So…" said Hawke, stroking her hair. "How _are _things with Varric?"

She broke the hug and placed her hands on her hips. "If you're after salacious details, you'll be disappointed."

"I didn't mean that!" he protested. "I'm just curious, that's all. I _am_ your big brother; it's my job."

She shrugged her shoulders and giggled. "Well…we _have_ kissed a few times, and sometimes we hold hands under the table. He's never tried anything, though," she said emphatically. "I-I have wondered, though…I mean, the time will come, won't it?" She sighed. "I'm sorry; perhaps I should be talking to Mother about this."

"No, I said you could talk to me about anything and I meant it. Look, Beth, you're a grown woman. I'm not going to demand honour if he touches a hair on your head or anything like that. Just be _careful_, that's all."

"I know," she answered. "I just…I'm not sure what to do when the time comes."

"You'll figure it out," replied Hawke. "Look," he said in a whisper. "This is a serious offer. If you like, I'll take you to The Blooming Rose one of the nights; some of the older women there can give you some…tips. I know them; they'll be happy to impart their wisdom. It might be preferable to an awkward conversation with Mother."

"Oh, I don't know, Fletcher," she mumbled. "Isabela has already offered…"

"Stop right there," Hawke commanded, holding his hand up. "I do _not_ want you getting advice on sex from Isabela. She'll be teaching you to run before you can walk. Leave it with me; I'll sort something out, all right?"

"All right, Brother," she answered, and cleared her throat. "Did you find Fenris? Is he all right?"

"Yes, I found him," Hawke answered, turning away from her.

"Why did he run off like that?"

"This is between us, all right?" Bethany nodded as Hawke turned back to her. "He has no memory of his life before he received the lyrium markings. That was three-and-a-half years ago. I think tasting the ale brought some distant memory back to him. He was quite distressed."

"Oh, Brother, how awful for him!" She covered her mouth with her hands and paced the room.

"I think he's a very private man, so I don't want anyone else knowing about this."

"I promise; I won't even tell Varric." She removed her hands from her mouth. "He told _you_ though, didn't he? Perhaps he trusts you?"

"I don't know." Hawke moved over to the small armchair next to the fireplace and sat down, staring at the floor, his hands clasped in his lap.

"Where is he now?" asked Bethany.

"He's gone back to the mansion. I didn't want to let him go on his own, but he wanted to be alone. I hope he'll be all right."

Bethany sat down on Varric's bed and watched her brother, inclining her head to one side. "You care about him, don't you, Fletcher?"

Hawke continued to stare at the floor, and groaned. "Maker, Beth, I…"

"What?"

"Nothing, it doesn't matter," he replied quickly, standing up. "I'm going to see if there's any stew left."

"Why don't you stay here, and I'll fetch you some," offered Bethany, rising from the bed.

"Thanks, Sister," he replied with a thin smile. "Send Anders in, would you? Looks like he could do with some respite, as well."

"I will," she promised, and Hawke blew her a kiss as she left.

~o~O~o~

Later that evening, Hawke sat at a table in the pub, staring at the door, only blinking when his eyes started to hurt. Varric, Anders, Isabela and Merrill had already left for the chantry. Fenris and Aveline were late.

"What time is it?" he asked Norah, one of the barmaids, as she passed by.

"You asked me that five minutes ago," she replied. "It's five minutes later; getting on for nine bells."

Hawke harrumphed and rested his face on his fists, his eyes not leaving the door. Where _were_ they? He couldn't give a fig for Aveline, but his imagination was running riot over Fenris. Had he broken his promise and got slaughtered on wine? Had he fallen down the steps? Had…had Danarius-

He shot up out of his chair just as the door opened, and Aveline strolled in, massaging her brow.

"Where have you been?" Hawke barked at her. "I've been waiting here for almost an hour!"

"You don't need to bite my head off, Hawke," she retorted. "I was held up at the barracks, all right? I just need a quick bracer, and then we can set off."

Hawke stomped toward the entrance. "Knock yourself out; I'm going to look for Fenris."

"Fenris? You mean your friend from earlier?"

Hawke stopped dead. "Yes…"

"He's outside," Aveline said with a casual nod toward the door.

"He…he's what?"

"I've just spoken to him. He said he popped his head around the door earlier, but didn't see you. I think he was trying to avoid your friends, actually; they seem a rowdy bunch to me."

"_Do _they, now?"

Ignoring him, Aveline turned toward the bar and ordered herself a drink.

"Maker's balls!" Hawke muttered, feeling a headache bloom inside his skull. As his heart raced in his chest, he took a few deep breaths, and stepped outside. Sure enough, Fenris was waiting, standing next to a pile of barrels.

"Hawke," he said with a nod. "I did not realise you were inside."

"I've been in there for ages," replied Hawke, his head falling back as a sigh escaped his lips. "I must have been…indisposed when you called in."

"That is a polite way of putting it," Fenris quipped, his face expressionless.

Hawke relaxed a little, and ventured a few steps closer to Fenris. "How are you feeling?"

"I am well, although…_you_ appear a little…unsettled."

"No, I'm fine," sighed Hawke. "Do you want to come in for a bit? Aveline's having a drink before we go."

Fenris shifted from foot to foot.

"The others have gone, you know," Hawke said quietly. "There's nobody in there from earlier on, if that's what you're worried about."

Fenris glanced at Hawke briefly, and nodded in acceptance.

"Good," replied Hawke. "Take the weight off your feet for a bit. Do they get sore? I've been meaning to ask you."

"Not anymore, no." Fenris stood awkwardly, and Hawke realised that he was blocking the entrance; Fenris would have to squeeze past him to enter.

Hawke opened the door, and Fenris followed. "Well, whether they get sore or not, we have a bloody long walk ahead of us; it'll do us good to sit down for a bit."

"And it will do _you_ good to take a long walk," remarked Fenris, and Hawke turned around, just in time to see a grin disappear from Fenris's face.

"Well, now I _know _we're friends," Hawke answered. "Only friends can insult one another with impunity."

"I was not insulting you," Fenris claimed as they sat down. "I was merely dispensing advice."

Hawke narrowed his eyes and regarded Fenris carefully, looking for a hint of a smile; he found none. "I never know if you're joking or not."

"You don't, do you?" Fenris answered, and this time, a tiny hint of mirth flickered in his eyes, and, as Hawke grinned at him, one of the edges of his mouth turned upward.

Then, they both laughed.


	12. Chapter 12

The long trek to the Wounded Coast had been uneventful and largely conversation-free, apart from the odd time they'd bumped into one of the city patrols, and Aveline had stopped for a few minutes to chat with her colleagues. Although the small party had been quiet for much of the three-hour journey, the mood among them was not sour or hostile, but, rather, thoughtful.

Hawke, on Aveline's insistence, had dropped back a little, allowing the two seasoned warriors to flank the path ahead, while Hawke kept his eyes on the horizon and the tops of the dunes and rocks. Their path was already faintly-lit as the moon was out, but Hawke summoned a small wisp that hovered between Fenris and Aveline, affording them a little more light. To Hawke's amusement, whenever the tiny sphere of light drifted too close to Fenris, the elf would cast a filthy look at it and swat it away.

Occasionally, Aveline would glance back at Hawke, as would Fenris, and, once assured that he was safe, she would nod and turn back toward the path, immediately mimicked by Fenris. After a while, Hawke started to return her nods. He had to hand it to her: she hadn't let his earlier hostility faze her in the slightest, nor had she let it stop her from looking out for the two men that accompanied her, enquiring if Fenris's feet were faring well, and receiving a polite reply in the affirmative.

Hawke had to admit to himself that Varric had been right: although he'd initially groaned at the thought of another slog to the coast, he was actually finding the walk quite invigorating, in spite of his aching feet. As rock turned to sand beneath them, and, as the shadow of Sundermount loomed to the west, somehow darker than the ink-black sky, to occupy himself, he took a leaf out of Anders's book and began looking around for sights of natural beauty, finding a few interesting shells and coloured pebbles, which he discreetly tucked into his pack.

He allowed his thoughts to wander for a while, lulled by the crisp, salt-tanged air and the faint sound of gentle waves lapping against the shoreline, and considered the fragile rapport that he and Fenris had recently established. His eyes wandered over to the elf, whose movements, in sharp contrast to Aveline's steady, purposeful stride, were jerky, erratic and tense. His head seemed to be constantly on the move, his eyes darting here and there, and his arms were crooked, his shoulders stiff, and his hands tightly balled.

There were so many things that Hawke wanted to ask him, so many questions that had come to light, but he'd refrained from doing so; he didn't know the elf well enough. It was none of his business. Still, he'd been deeply troubled by Fenris's dream that night on the coast, and even more concerned at the possible explanations his mind had manufactured. Although Hawke had told himself that he could be wrong, that he could be jumping to conclusions, each time he'd thought back to that night, only one conclusion had repeatedly presented itself, and it hadn't just jumped, it had leaped.

Despite the life Fenris had led, which had only been tantalisingly hinted at thus far, and despite his almost-permanent scowl and sometimes caustic remarks, Hawke found himself admiring Fenris's quiet ways, his dignity and proud carriage. There was almost a nobility about him, a sentiment that Fenris would no doubt rebuff, but Hawke saw it very clearly. Although Fenris clearly had grievances with mages, he had always been polite and respectful to Bethany, and, although he plainly disapproved of Anders's inhabitation by a Fade spirit, and Merrill's use of blood magic, still he had not hesitated to protect them on the few occasions he'd accompanied them.

Hawke had to admit: he found the walking contradiction that was Fenris fascinating, and longed to know more about him.

Snapping himself back to reality, his eyes returned to the elf's wiry frame, his breath catching as he realised that the two warriors had stopped, and that Fenris was watching Hawke, having caught him staring.

Aveline beckoned them closer and whispered, "The ambush site's not far. I recommend that you remove this little light," she said, pointing at Hawke's tiny wisp, "and make whatever preparations you need. I want you to stay well back, Hawke, and stick to what you're best at. No heroics. Fenris and I will draw their attention, and you can work your…well, you know, magic."

"All right, Aveline," agreed Hawke, dismissing the wisp with a flick of his hand. "I'm going to give the two of you some protection. Is that all right?"

Aveline nodded, but Fenris, who had readied his sword, shook his head. "I need no protection," he proclaimed.

"Fenris," Aveline argued, "I've fought alongside Hawke before, and some of his abilities are very useful to people like us…"

"The answer is no."

"If you become injured, Fenris, I _will _heal you," insisted Hawke.

"That's right," replied Aveline in a sterner tone. "I know not everyone trusts magic, but I won't have you slowing us down because of some skewed perception you have of it. Accept his offer, and let's get this job done." She strode ahead, leaving the two men alone.

"I don't have to touch you to put magic on you, you know," Hawke said quietly.

Fenris tilted his head back a little in a display that Hawke was unsure was down to defiance, or uncertainty. It was clear by now that the two men knew of Fenris's aversion to physical touch, and it was also obvious that Hawke seemed to be respectful, or at least mindful, of that.

Then, Hawke cast his mind back to earlier that day, when a small hand had gently pressed against his back, steering him away from a possible confrontation with a guard at the Keep.

A walking contradiction, indeed.

"And what of healing?" asked Fenris. "Is…physical touch necessary for that?"

"That depends on the severity of the injury."

Fenris nodded gravely, and, for a moment, Hawke thought the elf would take him up on his offer. "I will take my chances, but thank you all the same," said Fenris at last, and he walked away, leaving Hawke shaking his head.

Aveline led the way, and, as they neared a small cove, she felt her muscles tighten, and her heart rate increase, and she knew that Hawke was casting. "Thank you, Hawke," she said as she pressed her back against a rock and craned her neck around it, immediately straightening up. "There's a campfire up ahead; they're around, somewhere. Fenris, you and I…"

"Move!" Hawke yelled, and shoulder-charged Fenris onto the sand just as an arrow glanced off the rock where the elf had previously stood. As Fenris scrambled to his feet, Hawke tracked the trajectory of the arrow and spotted a shadow moving along the rocks just above. "Got him! Go! I'll cover you!" he ordered, and, as Fenris and Aveline ran into the cove, the sniper was punished with flame, his screams bouncing off the rocks.

Although Hawke longed to join the fray, he knew he was more effective as a healer and a buffer if he was _alive_, and, as he heard Aveline bellowing and the sound of clashing metal rising into the chill night air, and saw the faint glow of Fenris's markings flare into life, he began to methodically pick off the archers hidden in the hills and the undergrowth, using his connection to the Fade to ascertain the position of any other living creatures in the vicinity in relation to his.

Having eliminated them, he broke from cover, ventured nearer to the others and renewed his spells on Aveline, and, with a shrug of his shoulders, bestowed the same bolstering energies upon Fenris. Lyrium-imbued light danced across the sand as Fenris raced to Aveline's side again and again, fighting as one with her, and Hawke obligingly turned some of their assailants into living statues while keeping an eye on his companions' health and vigour.

Eventually, the bandits were defeated, and Hawke's small party came together, the two warriors breathless, bracing their hands against their knees as Hawke approached.

"Are you all right?" he asked them both. "Anyone need healing?"

"I've wrenched my bloody arm," complained Aveline, wincing as she stood up.

"Let's take a look at that," said Hawke with authority, helping her off with her breastplate. He held her arm out straight and, running his hand along her skin, detected a knotting and swelling beginning to form just above her elbow. Closing his eyes, he gently massaged the afflicted spot, a soft light appearing from within Aveline's arm and radiating outward.

"That's much better Hawke; thank you," she said, rolling her shoulder and flexing her arm.

"Fenris?" he asked, turning to the elf, who stepped forward and fixed Hawke with a fierce look.

"You used magic on me," he said, steel in his voice, his eyes glinting ominously in the firelight. "I did not give you leave to do that!" He turned away slightly and began to pace, gesticulating with his hands. "I made my wishes quite clear, and yet you chose to ignore them!"

"I'm sorry," Hawke replied with a shrug. "I thought it might help you."

"I've already told you; I do not _need_ your 'help'," snapped Fenris as he turned and pointed an accusatory finger at Hawke, while Aveline, having replaced her breastplate, began to loot the bodies.

Hawke sighed and blew a stray lock of hair out of his eyes.

"He saved your life, Fenris; you could at least show a little gratitude for that," said Aveline.

"I'm _grateful_," snarled Fenris, turning away from both of them. "Are we finished here?"

"Yes," replied Aveline, "but we need to get back to the barracks…"

Her words fell on deaf ears as Fenris stalked away into the darkness.

Hawke's jaw set in a firm line, his hands on his hips as he watched Fenris leave. "Why, you stubborn…!"

"Come on, let's get after him," Aveline suggested, running ahead. "There may still be a few of those sods still hanging around."

"Right behind you," answered Hawke, the two of them stopping dead as a piercing yell shattered the stillness of the night.

"Gyaaaaaahhh!"

"Fenris?" Hawke called frantically, his head darting round as he attempted to localise the sound. "_Fenris?"_

"Shit!" he heard Aveline call from up ahead, "Hawke! Get over here, quickly! He's trodden on a fucking claw trap!"

Racing to her side, Hawke, without thinking consciously, fell to his knees and pulled with all his might against one side of the trap as Aveline yanked at the other. "Harder, Hawke!" she shouted.

"Stercus!" wailed Fenris, his hands covering his face. "Sum stultior quam asinus!"

As the trap sprang open, Fenris collapsed onto all fours and gnashed his teeth, growling and cursing under his breath.

"I need some light!" exclaimed Hawke.

"Wait here!" called Aveline, already running back to the campfire at the cove.

"Fenris…Fenris," entreated Hawke, shuffling forward on his knees. "I need you on your back. Please; I have to heal this immediately."

"Gaaaaahh!" shouted Fenris, attempting to put some weight on his injured leg, only for it to collapse beneath him, sending him sprawling onto his belly.

"Listen to me, Fenris!" pleaded Hawke. "Please, just this once let me help you! You'll bleed to death if you don't!"

"Sum inops!" bleated Fenris, his agony causing his voice to fracture.

"Please, Fenris…use your good leg to turn yourself over…I don't want to touch you without your permission."

Fenris braced his elbows beneath his chest and pushed himself up, immediately falling down flat. "Stercus!" he cursed, panting. "I-I cannot. Yeeaargh!" he yelled as he tried again, without success.

At that moment, Aveline returned, carrying two large branches that she'd set aflame upon the bandits' camp fire. "Here, Hawke." She tossed the branches down.

"Thanks, Aveline. Here, help me with him. I need him lying on his back."

"No!" growled Fenris, still frantically trying to push himself up.

Ignoring him, Hawke and Aveline grabbed his shoulders and pushed him over onto his back. In the light provided by Aveline's fire, Hawke was struck at the look of terror on Fenris's face as he gaped at them both, dumbstruck, his breath coming out in short, harsh bursts.

"It's all right," Hawke said softly, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. "Fenris, we're not going to hurt you, but I have to look at that leg."

Fenris's eyes were fixed upon Hawke, his chest rising and falling rapidly as Hawke edged a little closer.

"What's the matter with him?" Aveline asked. Hawke held one hand up to her and nodded; she nodded back and sat down upon the sand with a confounded sigh.

"Fenris…I'm going to touch your leg. I need to look underneath your breeches. Will you let me do that? I _could_ put you to sleep and do this without your permission, but I would rather not do that. Will you let me help you?"

"I…" mumbled Fenris haltingly, and he gritted his teeth and moaned.

"Look at the blood, Fenris," Hawke said, pointing to the claret-coloured sand beneath the warrior. "If I don't heal you soon, you'll pass out. I can't replace lost blood."

Slowly, Fenris nodded.

"It's going to be all right, Fenris," Hawke said gently, slowly reaching for Fenris's leg.

Fenris watched as Hawke's hand made contact with his breeches and slowly began to tear at the shredded fabric.

"Shit. I think his shinbone's broken," muttered Hawke, spotting an ugly-looking protrusion on the elf's leg.

"Those bastards!" Aveline exclaimed, pushing herself to her feet. "Hawke, I'll leave you to it. I'm going to keep an eye out, just in case. Let me know if you need me."

"Good idea. Be careful," Hawke said to her, and then addressed Fenris. "Your leg is broken, Fenris. I _can _heal it, but it will take time, and it will be painful."

"I-I understand," whispered Fenris, leaning back on his elbows, a fine sheen of sweat coating his skin.

"I need to put my hands on your leg," Hawke explained. "This kind of injury _does_ require physical contact. I must stop the bleeding before I do anything else. Are you ready?"

Fenris nodded again, anger and terror raging within him. He was completely at Hawke's mercy; if Hawke _did_ try to hurt him, what could he do? His sword lay discarded out of his reach and his body was useless. How else could he defend himself but by crushing Hawke's heart? That was not something he wanted to do but if Hawke gave him no other choice…he held his breath as he felt Hawke's warm hands lightly brush against his skin.

"I'm going to use magic on you now, Fenris."

Fenris nodded again, and, as Hawke's touch became firmer, he felt his stomach plummet and his mouth became bone-dry. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face and he felt a sensation of warmth pour into his leg; he glanced at Hawke and noted the mage's look of determined concentration.

And then, in an instant, Hawke was gone. Darkness bled into his reality and surrounded him. He was in a small place, confined, unable to move. Although he could see nothing, somehow this place seemed familiar to him.

Then he heard it: ragged, erratic breathing, an occasional soft grunt.

He was not alone.

The smell of wine and stale sweat flooded his nostrils and he felt two large, clammy hands grip his leg and slowly move upwards.

"_My Little Wolf."_

"Fenris! Look at me!"

The darkness receded and once again he was lying on the sand, with Hawke leaning over him, pointing to his own face. Fenris gasped.

"Look at _me_. Don't take your eyes off _me_. Listen to my voice. It's me, Fenris. It's Hawke."

Once again, Fenris nodded mutely, and, as his eyes met Hawke's, it finally dawned on him: Hawke understood. Somehow, he understood.

"I've stopped the bleeding," Hawke told him. "Now, I need to mend that bone. This will take me a few minutes, all right? And it will hurt a bit, but I'll do my best to lessen the pain for you."

"Yes," Fenris rasped, his voice thick and unsteady.

"Here," offered Hawke, passing Fenris his water skin, which the elf took. "Don't worry; I cleaned off the vomit."

"Thank you," replied Fenris, and, to Hawke's relief, he felt Fenris relax a little against his touch as he once again placed his hands on the elf's leg.

"Talk to me, Fenris," instructed Hawke as Fenris felt a more powerful, slightly uncomfortable energy flow into his leg.

He took a gulp of water and set the water skin down. "What-what would you have me say?"

Hawke smirked a little. "You could teach me some of those curse words of yours. They sound great, and I could surprise Anders one of the days."

"You wish me to teach you to curse?"

"In Arcanum, yes. I think it's pretty unfair that you get to swear at me when I don't have a clue what you're on about…hold still a sec. This is going to hurt…"

Fenris hissed as a bolt of pain shot up his leg, and then relaxed as it subsided.

"Take a few deep breaths," advised Hawke. "Keep looking at me. Talk to me. I'm almost done."

"Yes," said Fenris. "Er…well, if you wish a phrase suitable for Anders, I could teach you one."

"Please do," Hawke said with a grin, "and make it as insulting as you like."

Hawke felt Fenris's body relax further against his grip, and watched him expectantly.

"Um…something simple. How about…'Dolium Volvitor'."

"Dolium volvitor," repeated Hawke. "What does that mean?"

"An empty cask is easily rolled."

Hawke laughed and repeated the phrase again. "I like that…hang on a second; are you sure I won't be telling Anders that I want to have his babies, or something?"

A pained smile spread across Fenris's face. "No, I assure you that is not what it means, although I could teach you that phrase, also."

"And I can assure you that I don't _need_ to learn that particular phrase," chuckled Hawke. "How about something snappy, like idiot? Twat? Bastard?"

"You could say _follis _to mean fool, or you could liken him to a beast of burden, which would be _asinus_."

"Beast of burden? You mean an ass?" Hawke looked up from Fenris's leg and frowned. "I heard you use that word, asinus, when you trapped your leg."

"Yes; I was calling myself an idiot."

Hawke looked down and removed his hands from Fenris's legs. "You're not an idiot, Fenris," he said quietly. He cleared his throat and forced a grin. "All done. It's going to be sore for a while, though; do you think you can manage the walk back?"

"Let us see," said Fenris, and he began to push himself up, but hesitated.

"Here," Hawke said, and Fenris looked up to see the mage's outstretched hands. Fenris stared at them for a moment. "I don't want to be here all night, Fenris," Hawke remonstrated.

Fenris huffed, and then held out his own hands, turning his gauntleted palms upwards. "Be careful," he warned as Hawke grasped his gauntlets, avoiding the spikes, and pulled him up, quickly releasing him.

Fenris steadied himself, dusted himself down, and took a few cautious steps, limping slightly.

Hawke shook his head and tutted loudly. "Anders would have done a much better job; you shouldn't have a limp."

"You have done a fine job, Hawke," Fenris replied unassumingly, and turned toward him. "I…I did not mean to be so discourteous earlier. I merely…"

"No, it was my fault," insisted Hawke. "I shouldn't have used magic on you without your permission. I won't do it again, I promise."

The two men stood in awkward silence for a few moments before Fenris spoke up. "It is done, now." Fenris looked up at Hawke and inclined his head. "Thank you."

"Let's find Aveline," said Hawke, turning away from Fenris to hide his grin. "Aveline?" he called out.

"Here, Hawke," she said from behind them, emerging into the small area that was lit by the burning tree branches. "If there were any more of them, they've scarpered. I've dismantled a couple more traps, and I've cleared a safe path out of here for us. Can you walk?" she asked Fenris.

"I can," he answered.

"Good. Let's get back, then; Captain Jeven will be very interested in what's gone down here." She looked at the two men and smiled. "I think we work well together. Well done, and thank you for your help."

Fenris bowed slightly. "You're welcome," answered Hawke, nodding. "Lead the way, Aveline." He closed his eyes and held out his hand, a tiny ball of light waxing in his palm. Hawke whispered something to it, and it drifted over to Aveline, lighting her path.

As she went on ahead, Hawke walked alongside Fenris, though he maintained a discreet distance. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Fenris glancing down at his leg.

"Is your leg all right, Fenris?" he asked. "Do you feel light-headed? You lost quite a bit of blood."

"I am fine," Fenris answered, and then glanced over at Hawke. "I, um, I don't suppose you know of a spell that mends broken trousers, do you?"

Hawke's laughter rang out and echoed throughout the cove. "I'm afraid not, Fenris; broken bones I can handle, but I'm a bit of an _asinus_ when it comes to broken trouser spells."

To his delight, Fenris smiled, and limped alongside Hawke as they faced the long trudge back to Kirkwall.

~o~O~o~

Their journey was slowed somewhat by Fenris's pace, and, although he doggedly pressed on, Hawke insisted that they stop for a few short breaks along the way, and convinced Fenris, after much debate, to eat something.

As a result of the delay, they didn't arrive back in Kirkwall until the early hours of the morning. Aveline, borrowing a guard who had a rather quiet patrol in Hightown, escorted both Fenris and Hawke back to their homes before turning in for the night herself. Before they parted, Hawke advised Fenris to elevate his leg and promised to call on him later that morning, and Aveline arranged to meet them at The Hanged Man during her break to give them the reward she was certain would be forthcoming.

Hawke unlocked the door to Gamlen's house as quietly as possible, not wishing to wake anyone, and was surprised to find that a few candles, and the fire, were lit in the living room. He opened the door to his mother and Bethany's room, and, without looking in, listened; and, hearing two distinct sets of breathing, he closed the door, satisfied that his sister had arrived home safely.

"What time do you call _this_?"

"Bloody hell, Gamlen!" Hawke hissed as he spun round to find his uncle entering from the other bedroom. "Don't creep up on me like that!"

"I can do whatever I like," Gamlen said sourly. "This is my home, and yet you and your sister just stroll in at all hours of the night. She only got back an hour ago!"

"Well, when that becomes your business, Uncle, I'll let you know. Until then, don't worry your handsome little head over it," Hawke said with vitriol. "What are _you _doing up, anyway? Been for one of your _strolls_ through Hightown?"

"As you well know, I have an early shift at the docks," Gamlen spat, not even trying to hide his disgust with his ne'er-do-well nephew. He walked over to a rickety table and picked up a letter, throwing it at Hawke. "This came for you. I am not a messenger service, y'know!"

The letter fell to the floor, and Hawke picked it up just as the front door slammed behind Gamlen. Hawke groaned and sank into an armchair next to the fire, and opened the letter, which bore the seal of the Chantry.

_Messere Hawke,_

_It has come to my attention that you are a man of good character and conscience, having recently aided my fellows. I humbly call upon you to do so again. A situation has arisen that requires both discretion and diplomacy and I would welcome your aid in this matter._

_On the reverse of this letter are directions to where you will find me. You may bring others with you, of course, but I ask that you do not reveal this location to any other parties. I will await you there in the hope that you will take up this cause. If you are the man of moral fortitude I believe you to be, then you will do so with all due haste. Thank you._

_A friend._

Hawke read the letter a few more times, allowing himself a quiet snigger at being called a man of moral fortitude, and turned the letter over, scrutinising the hand-drawn map on its reverse.

"Oh, you've _got _to be joking!" he moaned quietly. "The fucking coast _again_? Why don't I just live there?"

Groaning, he folded the letter, tucked it inside his robe and settled down in the chair, quickly falling asleep.

~o~O~o~

Having slept lightly in the chair, Hawke rose a few hours later and surprised his mother and Bethany by making breakfast for them, before heading for the Hanged Man, where he knew he'd find Varric, no matter how early or late it was. He often wondered if dwarves actually slept at all, or if Varric was just a special case.

He found Varric not in the lounge, but in his room, where he was enjoying a hearty cooked breakfast. Inviting Hawke in, Varric bade him to sit and listened to Hawke's account of the previous night.

"How did you get on at the chantry?" Hawke asked, cheekily helping himself to a sausage.

Varric grimaced. "Well, we did the job," he began, "but there's a problem. That money the Rivaini promised us? She doesn't have it. Said she'd do a few jobs with us to make up for it, but, funnily enough, she's nowhere to be found this morning."

Hawke's face hardened and he shook his head, taking a bite of his sausage. "No, Varric; that's not acceptable. You all put yourselves on the line last night for her. We're not a charitable organisation. If you see her, tell her either she pays up, or she's finished with us."

"Will do, Hawke."

"I had an interesting letter, from a templar, I think," said Hawke, removing the note from his pocket and passing it over to Varric. "It doesn't mention money, but it does bear the Chantry's seal."

Varric scrutinised the letter, and, upon turning it over, burst out laughing. "Hey, Hawke! Your favourite place!"

Hawke growled and rolled his eyes. "I feel like I'm forever doomed to walk to the Wounded Coast and back again. I'm certain my ghost will haunt that path when I die."

"But just think how healthy your ghost will be!" laughed Varric, turning the letter over in his hands. "Hmm. Sounds like this is being done on the sly. We _could _get some good coin out of this guy, whoever he is."

"It _could _also be a trap," Hawke warned. "That Knight-Captain…Cullen? Said that not all of his men would be pleased at having to leave Anders alone. If we do this, I want _everyone _along, just in case."

"That's good thinking, Hawke," replied Varric, returning the letter. "Blondie said he'll be busy at the clinic today, but maybe he'll be free later."

"I'll go and see him," announced Hawke, standing up. "I could do with catching up with him, anyway. Then I need to check on Fenris, see how his leg's holding up. I'll see you…probably later this afternoon?"

"I'll be here," replied Varric, and Hawke, finishing off the stolen sausage, left the room.

~o~O~o~

Varric, for once, hadn't been exaggerating when he'd told Hawke that Anders would be busy. A ship from Ferelden had docked in Kirkwall the day before, meaning a new influx of refugees into the City of Chains, many of whom were in poor health, and they soon found their way to Anders's clinic.

Hawke had to queue to see his friend, and, after waiting in line a while, Anders spotted him and beckoned him over.

"Hawke! Was beginning to think you'd fallen out with me, or something!" Anders, busy healing a young boy's grazed knee, didn't look up as he spoke, and, although his comment was light-hearted, Hawke detected an undertone lacing his words. What that undertone signified, Hawke was uncertain of; he'd heard it before when Anders was upset or irritated over something.

"Do you need some help, Anders?" Hawke offered, looking down the queue that led out of the clinic and around a corner.

"Oh, Maker, yes," Anders groaned, massaging the back of his neck as he sent the young boy on his way. "These poor sods started arriving last night; most of them have lice, and one or two are badly malnourished."

"Last _night_? Anders, have you had any sleep?"

Anders shook his head and rubbed his eyes hard. "I couldn't very well leave them, could I?"

"Go and get your head down this minute," ordered Hawke, pointing to Anders's private room at the rear of the clinic.

Anders' shoulders slumped. "Normally, I'd argue with you there, Hawke, but I feel like I'm about to drop." He grabbed Hawke's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Thank you. I'll just have an hour. Give me a shout if there's anything you can't handle."

"I mended a broken leg last night," Hawke told him, beckoning over a woman who stood at the head of the queue. "I'll be fine."

"Who broke their leg?"

"Fenris."

"How did he do that?"

"Claw trap."

Anders winced. "What, he actually let you touch him?"

"He didn't have much choice. Go on; off you go."

"All right. Thanks again, Hawke. Don't let me sleep for too long, else I won't be able to sleep tonight." Anders walked over to the back of the clinic and disappeared down a short flight of steps. Hawke bade the lady to take a seat and introduced himself.

It took almost two-and-a-half hours for Hawke to see to the rest of the refugees. As he tidied up the main room of the clinic, a few more arrived, but Hawke, deeming their afflictions to be minor, told them the clinic was closed, and would re-open in half an hour, unless there was an emergency.

Hawke had only slept for a couple of hours himself, and began to feel it catching up on him. Besides, he needed a little time for his mana reserves to replenish; drinking a lyrium potion was a quick fix, but no substitute for rest, and, as he hadn't had a full night's sleep, his reserves were low, causing him to feel skittish and jumpy.

He went down to Anders's room - which was nothing more than a small storage room with a cot and a few of Anders's meagre belongings scattered about - woke Anders and made them both a cup of tea.

Hawke sat on a wooden box, first testing it to ensure it would hold his weight, and passed a grateful Anders his tea. "Most of them have been treated, now," Hawke told him, wriggling on his makeshift seat and scratching his legs and head.

"I know how you feel," laughed Anders, taking a sip of tea. "All those lice make you feel riffy afterwards, don't they?"

"I've treated myself, but I feel like my body's crawling with them," Hawke complained, raking his scalp with his fingernails.

"I really appreciate your help, Hawke; most of the time, the clinic's fairly quiet, but when the ships arrive from Ferelden, I'm overrun."

"Let me know the next time, Anders; I'll always help out, you know that," answered Hawke, and Anders smiled and nodded in thanks.

"Was there anything in particular you wanted me for?" asked Anders. "Not that I'm unhappy to see you, or anything."

"Erm…oh, yes, we might have some more work from the Templars." He retrieved the letter from inside his robes and passed it to Anders, who read it with interest.

"I wonder what that's about?" said Anders. "It sounds…unofficial, whatever it is."

Hawke nodded. "Varric and I haven't discounted the possibility that it's another lure."

"For me, you mean?" Anders asked, and Hawke nodded.

"You don't have to come if you don't want to. If you _do _want to, we'll set out as soon as you're free. If the letter _is_ genuine, it sounds like he needs our help fairly soon."

Anders nodded. "All right. I'll finish up here and I'll meet you a bit later. Will you be at The Hanged Man?"

"I will later on, but I'm going to see Fenris, now; I need to check on that leg."

Anders nodded again, a thoughtful look settling over him. "Hawke…I know you probably won't appreciate me saying this, but just be careful with him, all right?"

"What, with Fenris?"

"Yes." Anders took a gulp of tea and wiped his mouth. "You've been spending quite a bit of time with him lately. I just…well, I don't want to see you getting hurt, that's all."

Hawke shook his head. "He's not going to hurt me, Anders. I've been getting to know him a little over the past few days, and, although he's not the easiest of people to get on with, I think there's more to him than meets the eye. I think he's actually quite a gentle person."

"_Gentle_?" Anders laughed, incredulous at Hawke's naivety. "Have you forgotten the part where he plunges his fist into someone's chest and crushes their innards? How he nearly did that to you?"

"No, I can't see him doing that to me. I must admit, I was a bit frightened of him at first, but I think _he's_ more frightened…" Hawke paused, wary of saying too much. "Give him a chance, Anders. I think he's going to become a good friend, and I'd like nothing more than for the two of you to get along."

Anders's eyes lingered on Hawke for a long moment, and he eventually nodded, but didn't look convinced.

Hawke stood up and set his mug down on the wooden box. "Anyway, I'd better go and check on him; I left the poor sod with a limp."

Anders chuckled and shook his head.

"Oh, before I forget, I have something for you," Hawke said, reaching into his small pack. "I found these on the coast last night; I thought maybe you and Justice would appreciate them." He produced a handful of unusual shells and brightly-coloured pebbles.

Anders laughed delightedly and took the tiny gifts into his hand, carefully examining each one; he then looked up at Hawke. "You collected these for me? That was…well, that was really thoughtful of you, Hawke. Thanks."

"Tiny things please tiny minds," Hawke teased. "Well, I'll see you later."

"Thanks again, Hawke; I really mean that," Anders called after him as he climbed the stairs up to the clinic, and he stroked Hawke's gifts between finger and thumb, his eyes lingering on the stairs long after Hawke had departed.


	13. Chapter 13

Hawke strolled through Hightown, humming softly to himself. Although he was tired, his steps were light and his spirits high; not only had he managed to piss Gamlen off, which was never a bad thing, but he'd made his friend Anders happy, too. Although Anders was generally cheerful and optimistic, he was prone to the occasional bout of melancholy, which, given his past and his inhabitation by a grim Fade spirit, Hawke could understand, and Hawke took every opportunity he could to boost Anders's morale and confidence.

He'd also found aiding the refugees very rewarding, and could certainly see the allure of being a full-time healer; he'd seriously considered it as a vocation once the deep roads expedition was over with, and once he'd made enough money for his sister and mother to live comfortably. For now, funding the expedition was his primary concern, and all else would have to wait.

And then, there had been the breakthrough with Fenris; at least Hawke considered it a breakthrough, anyway. Fenris had actually allowed Hawke to touch him, and had trusted him to use magic on him. Granted, there had been little alternative, save leaving Fenris to bleed to death, but still, Hawke felt he'd secured a minor victory of sorts, and something danced within him at the thought of that.

"I do good work," he said quietly to himself, grinning wryly.

Not only had he managed to alleviate Fenris's terror…

He stopped humming and paused.

Fenris _had _been terrified. As Hawke had begun his ministrations, he'd glanced at the elf in between his spells and had seen Fenris's eyes glaze over, his breathing quicken, sweat form on his brow. Hawke could almost hear Fenris's heart hammering against his breastbone. Although Fenris had not once taken his eyes off him, at one point Hawke had noticed that Fenris was not looking _at_ him, but _through_ him; he had ceased to see Hawke at all and was experiencing an entirely different reality.

He'd been somewhere else.

As a result of helping Fenris through that, Hawke felt as though their rapport had been strengthened somewhat, which pleased him. Resuming his walk, he entered the grounds of Danarius's mansion and arrived at the front door, relieved to see that Varric had finally got round to having a lock fitted on it. He rang the servants' bell pull, as Fenris had advised Hawke that he may not hear a knock upon the door, and waited. After a few minutes, he heard a click, and the door was opened.

"Good afternoon, Fenris; sorry I'm a bit late, but I was held up."

"Hawke." Fenris nodded once and stood in the doorway.

"Erm…I just came to see how your leg was? Like we arranged last night?"

"My leg is fine, thank you." Fenris did not move from the doorway, nor did he invite Hawke to enter.

"Oh…well, that's good, then. Um…any stiffness? Are you still limping?"

"No."

Hawke scratched the back of his head. "Right. Well, erm, I just wanted to let you know that we're heading back to the coast in a while. We have a job with the Templars; at least I _think _it's the Templars…" He glanced at Fenris, who stared blankly back at him. "If you feel up to it, I'd really like for you to come along. We'll be meeting up…probably around teatime."

"The Hanged Man?" asked Fenris.

"Where else?" Hawke chuckled, his smile quickly fading at Fenris's stony expression. "Fenris, you look tired; did you sleep well?"

"Yes," Fenris lied in a flat voice. "I will meet you there later." He began to close the door.

"Fenris…" Hawke placed his hand on the door, before quickly removing it. "Are you all right?"

"I am well, as I have already stated."

"Have I…have I done something to offend you?"

Fenris's gaze dropped to the ground. "No…" He shook his head and took a deep breath. "Thank you for calling on me; I will meet with you shortly."

Crestfallen and confused, Hawke nodded slowly. "All right…I guess I'll see you later, then?"

Fenris returned his nod and closed the door, turning the key in the lock. He exhaled and covered his eyes with one hand, and then walked over to a window next to the door, and watched from behind the drapes as Hawke left. Seeing the mage's frown and dejected posture, Fenris felt a pang of guilt, but during the night he had resolved to stand firm: he'd been careless, and steps needed to be taken.

Not only had he thrown his lot in with a band of mages, one of whom was possessed, and another, a Dalish blood mage, but he'd foolishly let his guard down around Hawke, and had even begun to enjoy his company. No matter how benign Hawke's offer of friendship had appeared to be, Fenris knew from bitter experience that all mages, no matter how well-intentioned, would eventually succumb either to demonic influence or to their innate craving for power. Mages were born that way, and he castigated himself for believing that Hawke may somehow be different from the rest of them. Hawke _was_ a mage, and therefore his path was already laid before him, his story already written.

As Hawke left the grounds, Fenris sagged against the drapes, partly in relief, and partly due to something else he couldn't quite define; whatever it was, it didn't feel pleasant. He sat upon the window sill and looked down at his leg, recalling the feel of Hawke's hands upon it the night before. He hadn't allowed anyone to touch him in that way for almost three years, since…

He'd fully expected Hawke to try to harm him, or to touch him in a way that was not appropriate, but the mage had been patient, considerate and gentle with him. Fenris certainly hadn't expected that. Hawke had seemed to know that Fenris had been in trouble, had called him away from the dark memories that had invaded his mind, and had ordered him to focus on his face. Hawke had _known_.

And, as Fenris had complied, he'd seen something in Hawke's brown eyes that was unfamiliar, yet somehow comforting, and he'd been caught up in the mage's friendly and easy conversation, finding solace in his words. There had been almost an intimacy to their exchange as Hawke had beguiled him with his kind words and his soft touch.

He could _never_ place himself in such a vulnerable position again.

Hawke was a mage, albeit one that came in the guise of a friend, but Fenris had managed quite well without friends since fleeing Minrathous, and could not allow himself to get close to _anyone_; his only goal must be to await the return of his former master, and to make him beg for death as Fenris slowly squeezed the life out of him. He did not need friends for that.

"I am better off on my own," he said to himself.

~o~O~o~

Although The Hanged Man was packed full, with conversation and laughter filling the lounge, the occupants of one table were curiously quiet. Bethany and Merrill conversed politely, their chatter somewhat subdued by the heavy atmosphere that hung over their table like a black storm cloud. Anders, who was sat next to Bethany, watched Hawke, who sat on the opposite side of the table apart from the others as he stared into space, his left hand fiddling with a beer mat. Both men's ales sat untouched.

"Oh, look; that…that guard woman's here," announced Merrill as Aveline strode through the lounge towards them. "I think it's her, anyway; is it her, Hawke? Hawke?"

"What?" Hawke's eyes flitted over to Merrill, but his head did not move.

"I was just saying…well, she's here, now. Doesn't matter."

"Hawke, we have a problem," Aveline announced, sitting on the bench next to him. He shifted slightly and edged away from her, his eyes glazing over as she began to tell him of Captain Jeven's unexpected reaction to their initiative.

"That sounds a bit dodgy, to me," said Anders, glad for the chance of participating in a conversation that didn't involve hair and beauty tips. "You'd think he'd have been pleased."

"You would, wouldn't you?" Aveline agreed. "I've suspected for a while now that Jeven doesn't fly straight. I get the feeling that the satchel was never meant to reach Lowtown."

"Satchel? _What_ satchel? What are you on about?" Hawke asked irritably.

"What…? I've just spent the last five minutes telling you, Hawke! Pay attention this time, will you?" An exasperated Aveline repeated her story, ensuring that this time Hawke was listening. "I need you to come with me to Lowtown, tonight. Guardsman Donnic will be carrying the satchel then, and, if my suspicions are correct, we'll catch them in the act, and save Donnic from a beating, or worse."

"Aveline," sighed Hawke, "don't you think you should get some of the other guards to help you with this?"

"No, I can't," she said emphatically. "If I'm wrong about this, then I'll be thrown out of the Guard, maybe even imprisoned. I'll not risk any of my colleagues on the strength of a hunch."

Hawke folded his arms and huffed. "And _then _will we get this reward you promised us?"

"This is more important than a reward, Hawke," Aveline urged. "Look, I know you're tired after last night, but I can't do this without you. Please; I'm asking you."

"Well, we're heading out to the coast again soon," Hawke answered, rolling his head on his shoulders. "I don't know what time we'll be back."

"What for? Is it urgent?" she asked.

"We're helping someone out, and yes, it does sound quite important. We're just waiting for Varric and Fenris to arrive."

"Well, I'm off-duty now until tonight," said Aveline. "Do you need an extra pair of hands? Is that fair? I help you out in return for the help you've given me?"

Hawke smiled wanly. "All right, then, but you'll still owe us for tonight."

"You drive a hard bargain, Hawke," she answered, "but, fair enough: I owe you one. Deal?"

"Deal," Hawke answered, and the two of them shook hands.

"Over here, Varric!" called out Bethany, waving as the dwarf entered the pub.

Squeezing through the punters, Varric arrived at their table, and frowned as he looked at his friends. "Ok, who died?"

"Oh, nobody's died," Merrill piped up, "but Hawke's in a bit of a strop." She cringed, expecting a fierce comeback from Hawke, and was surprised when none came.

"I'm just tired," Hawke claimed, avoiding Anders's gaze. Anders had questioned him earlier on the reason for his sour mood upon returning from visiting with Fenris, but Hawke had evaded his questions, quickly changing the subject.

Varric slapped Hawke's back. "Well, nothing like a nice bracing walk to the coast to remedy that, huh?"

"Go to the Stone, Dwarf," Hawke groused.

"Not yet; not until _I _say so," Varric chirped with a wink at Bethany. "Come on; the elf's outside. I think we're all ready. Sooner we go, sooner we get back."

"What, Fenris is outside?" asked Anders. "Why hasn't he come in?"

Varric shrugged, turned away, and started to clear a path through the throng. "Come on, you bunch of drunken bums! Make way! There are ladies coming through!"

The regulars stepped aside to let Bethany and Merrill pass, and Hawke, taking a large gulp of ale before standing up, also made his way out, unaware that Anders, who followed close behind, was still watching him.

Spilling out onto the street, they immediately spotted an agitated-looking Fenris across the way being harassed by a woman.

"Stop…_looking _at me like that!" he complained, leaning away from her as she flashed a lecherous grin at him.

"Isabela. Fancy seeing _you_ here," Hawke said sternly, as he and the others walked over to them.

"Oh, Hawke!" she trilled, her eyes wandering over his body as Fenris hastily distanced himself from her. "My, my; you _do _look handsome today."

"Forget it," snapped Hawke. "Where's our money? My friends here gave up their spare time and put themselves at risk for you. Flattery won't get you out of this."

"All right, all right," she grumbled, reaching into a small pouch on her dress. "I have a bit." She handed two sovereigns over to him. "Just…don't ask how I came by it, ok?"

"Doesn't take a genius," muttered Aveline with a narrow-eyed glance at the barely-dressed pirate.

"I couldn't care less how you came by it," answered Hawke, "but you owe us two more. You took four people with you; that's a sovereign apiece."

"I wasn't aware you had a price list," Isabela countered, mirroring Hawke's stance by folding her arms.

"I've just started one, right now."

"I'm honoured that you would make up a price list just for me! Fine; I owe you two sovereigns. Now, where are you all off to?"

"Nowhere you'd be interested in," said Hawke. "Let me know when you have the rest of our money." He turned away and began to walk away from her, as did the others.

"Hey! Hold on a second!" she called, running after them and catching up to Hawke. "Come on, let me make it up to you!" she urged, slipping an arm around Hawke's. He glanced down at it and tried to pull away, but Isabela was having none of it. "Are you going to do one of your jobs? Let me come along; I could be useful to you. Just ask the dwarf; he was mightily impressed with my skills last night, isn't that right?" she said to Varric.

Hawke finally freed himself from her grasp and joined Varric next to Bethany. "What do you think?" he asked the dwarf.

Varric shrugged. "Well, I'm guessing she's not the most reliable person in the world, but she _is _pretty nifty with those daggers of hers, and you did say you wanted as many people along on this as possible. It's your call, Hawke."

Hawke nodded at Varric and walked back over to Isabela. "All right, you can come," he told her, "but you won't be getting a cut, _if _we make any money from this, that is."

A wide grin spread across the Rivaini's face, and she winked at him. "You _are _hard, aren't you?" She sidled closer to him and lowered her voice. "You know what they say, handsome; a hard man is good to find."

A nervous chuckle escaped Hawke's lips. "Look, you really are wasting your time, you know."

Isabela frowned and pouted. "What, don't tell me you don't…_dabble_ occasionally?"

"Never," he answered with a firm shake of his head.

"Ho-hum," she said with a shrug, and once again threw him a wink. "I'll just have to put all of my energies into our handsome elf, then. Your loss, darling."

Watching as she sashayed over toward Fenris, Hawke felt an unexpected flicker of irritation, and then, without knowing why, an immense sense of gratitude as Bethany distracted the pirate and called her over for a chat, leaving Fenris to continue on alone.

As they made their way out of Kirkwall, they split into a few small groups; Merrill with Isabela, Varric with Bethany and Hawke with Anders. Fenris walked a distance ahead, having not spoken a word to anyone since their departure, and Aveline, who seemed to have appointed herself as leader of their group – something Hawke was quite happy for her to do – walked not far behind the elf, occasionally checking on the rest of her companions.

Anders did his best to cheer Hawke up, who had fallen quiet again after his conversation with Isabela, and, noticing that Hawke's gaze kept wandering over to Fenris, decided to press him.

"Hawke…are you going to tell me what happened earlier on?" he asked quietly.

"What do you mean?" Hawke mumbled.

Anders tutted. "Come on, Hawke; you haven't been yourself at all since you got back from the mansion. What did he say to you? What's he done to upset you?"

Surprised at the anger in Anders's voice, Hawke glanced at him and then looked straight ahead, shaking his head.

"I don't know, Anders," he said quietly with a lethargic shrug. "I don't get it. Last night…when I was healing him…I thought…" He shook his head again and fell silent.

"You thought what, Hawke?"

"I just thought that we were getting somewhere, you know? Like he'd finally started to trust me a bit. He even cracked a few jokes on the way home. When I went to see him earlier, though…I don't get it, Anders," he repeated with a sigh. "He was so…cold towards me. I don't understand what I did wrong."

"I think _I_ understand," Anders said in a hard tone. "He was injured, and the only person he had on hand to help was a mage. He probably resents that."

"But he didn't seem to at the time," Hawke argued. "We had a long walk back to Kirkwall and he was absolutely fine with me; I even began to see his sense of humour coming through. He has a very dry wit, you know; he makes me laugh."

Hawke detected a slight shift in the air around them which resonated with his mana field, and knew that Anders was bristling. He sighed. "I don't know why I'm letting this get to me, Anders; after all, I hardly know him, do I?"

"That's right," replied Anders, trying to keep his voice steady, although he knew that Hawke must be aware of his anger. "You don't need him; remember how he reacted when he first found out we were mages? He obviously detests us. I'm sure his master was a prick to him, but that's hardly our fault, is it?"

"Perhaps you're right," sighed Hawke, his posture drooping. Anders slung an arm around Hawke's shoulders, saddened at his low mood, but something inside him rejoiced, also.

"Remember what you said, Hawke: we mages must stick together, yes? He obviously doesn't want to be friends with you, so don't waste any more time on him. You know who your real friends are."

Hawke smiled thinly and looked into Anders's eyes. "Yes, I know, Anders. You're a good friend." He wrapped his arm around Anders's waist and Anders slapped Hawke's shoulder a few times. Hawke released him and they continued to walk on, with Anders watching him for a little while longer, before launching into his repertoire of bawdy jokes.

~o~O~o~

Having skipped afternoon tea, some of Hawke's party started to complain of feeling hungry after a while, so they all stopped for a bite to eat. Anders, who had not left Hawke's side the whole time, argued with Hawke's insistence that he speak to Fenris.

"Don't give him the satisfaction, Hawke," he implored.

"No, I'm going to have it out with him," insisted Hawke, who by now was feeling indignant. "I only went to check on him and he made me feel like a piece of shit. I want to know why."

"Well, don't let him talk you round with an empty apology," said Anders as Hawke approached Fenris, who was leaning against a rock away from the others.

"Fenris," Hawke said sternly, causing the elf to start slightly. "I want to talk to you."

"Yes?" asked Fenris warily, backing away slightly as Hawke neared him.

"When I came to see you this afternoon, I was concerned about your leg. I thought I'd done a pretty poor job of healing it and wanted to see if there was anything more I could do," he said, unable to keep the hurt out of his voice. "The way you spoke to me…I don't think I deserved that, Fenris. Was it because I'm a mage? Because I put my hands on you? I'd really like to know because I'm pretty confused at the moment."

Stunned, Fenris stared at Hawke with wide eyes, struggling to come up with an answer.

Hawke nodded, anger flashing in his eyes. "I think I get it. It just would have been nice if you'd had the decency to be honest with me, that's all. At least I know where I stand, now."

A hot, heavy sensation settled in Fenris's stomach as Hawke stomped away, and, as his eyes met those of Anders, who'd been watching the exchange with a raised eyebrow, Fenris's eyes narrowed and they stared each other down, until he was distracted by Aveline, who, having been apprised of Hawke's suspicion that they were walking into a trap, wanted to talk tactics with him.

As Hawke disappeared behind a rock to answer a call of nature, Anders made his way over to Isabela, who was squatting down, sharpening her blades on a small rock.

"You shouldn't give up on the elf so easily, you know," he advised with a sly grin as she looked up at him.

"No?" she asked, straightening up. "Well, I do like men who play hard to get, but not _that _bloody hard to get."

"He's just shy," said Anders with a dismissive shake of his head. "And he does have rather a big sword…"

Sharing a laugh with him, Isabela saucily cocked an eyebrow and looked over at Fenris, who, having been watching Anders, turned away under her scrutiny. "You think? I just need to work on him a bit more?"

"Definitely," he replied. "Just a bit of advice: don't get touching him. He hates that. But talking, you should be safe with."

"He hates being touched?"

"Very much so."

"Well if _that _isn't a challenge, I don't know what is!" She wiggled her eyebrows at Anders and started walking over to the elf.

"Isabela," he called. "Seriously. Don't touch him."

With a wink, she swayed her hips as she walked away from him. Anders bit his bottom lip and stifled a giggle just as Hawke emerged from behind the rock.

"Feel better?" chirped Anders.

"Mm," Hawke mumbled absently. "Is everyone ready to go?" he asked the others, most of whom nodded. "Let's get going then; I don't want to be out too late," he added with a yawn.

Following the directions on the hand-drawn map, they soon arrived at a junction. Hawke stopped and examined the map again. "This is it," he announced. "We're not far."

As his companions readied their weapons, Hawke noticed Anders sway a little as they walked forward. He placed his hand on Anders's back, who by now had halted, rubbing his forehead.

"Anders? What's the matter?" asked Hawke.

Anders led him away from the others, blinking rapidly to maintain his focus. "Justice is agitated," he told Hawke.

"Do you know why?"

Anders shook his head as Varric walked over to them.

"Everything ok, Blondie?"

"We're not sure," said Hawke, nodding over at the path ahead. "What can you see?"

"There's a lone templar standing outside a cave," Varric replied. "Can't see anyone else around."

"Anders, do you think you can keep Justice under control while we speak to the templar?" asked Hawke. "He may be the one who sent me the letter."

Anders nodded slowly and took a deep breath. "I'll talk to him. You go on ahead."

"You sure?" asked Hawke.

Anders nodded again. Hawke slapped his shoulder. "All right. See you in a bit," he said, and joined Varric as they walked around a bend to speak to the templar.


	14. Chapter 14

"Hey!" Varric whispered to Hawke as they walked down a small slope toward the lone templar. "I _thought_ I recognised him! That's the poor bastard whose daughter turned into a demon, or abomination, or whatever it was. The one I took the letter to?"

Hawke raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Yeah. He seemed a pretty good guy. What was his name? Thrush? Frisk? Gah, I'm terrible at remembering names!"

"He's spotted us," said Hawke as the templar turned towards the group and waited patiently for them to arrive alongside him.

"Ser Dwarf," he said to Varric with a small bow, which the rogue returned. "I am Ser Thrask," he said to Hawke, and Varric rolled his eyes in recognition. "I thank you for heeding my call; I was not certain you would come."

"What seems to be the problem, Ser Thrask?" Hawke asked.

At that moment, Anders walked down the slope and joined the group, and Hawke, immediately noticing his rigid posture and frozen expression, placed himself directly in front of Anders, suspecting that his friend was struggling to contain Justice.

"There has been an incident at the Circle in Starkhaven," explained Thrask, "during which several mages escaped. A group of them has been tracked to this locality." He lowered his voice. "I am the only one who knows of their exact whereabouts…"

"Oh, so you want us to go in there and capture them for you?" asked Merrill impertinently. "Well, you can forget it; isn't that right, Anders? Hawke?"

"I heard about that incident," replied Hawke. "The Starkhaven Circle was burned, wasn't it?" Ser Thrask nodded. "Let's just hear what he has to say, first." Anders gave no answer, and stared, unblinking, at the entrance to the cave.

Thrask cleared his throat. "A colleague of mine, Ser Karras, is bent on their destruction. I do not wish for this to turn into a massacre, and would have these mages surrender peacefully. I ask that you speak with them, Messere Hawke; were I to enter the caverns, they would surely slay me on sight. I am certain that you will be able to reason with them."

Hawke glanced around. "Is this Ser Karras anywhere around here?"

"He is in the vicinity, leading a search party," answered Thrask. "Should he arrive here before the mages have surrendered, he will not hesitate to execute each and every one of them."

"Is there any chance the mages have fled?" Hawke asked.

Thrask shook his head. "They are trapped within and have no chance of escape. Their only chance is for you to convince them to lay down their arms and surrender."

"Let us waste no time," Anders adjured solemnly, striding forward toward the cave.

"Yes…all right," agreed Hawke, quickly following him. "We'll do our best, Ser Thrask."

"That is all I can hope for," replied Thrask. "Thank you, and may the Maker watch over your path."

As they filed into the cave, Anders's head fell back, and an eldritch blue light filled the narrow chamber. Aveline and Isabela stepped back, Aveline unsheathing her sword.

"It's all right," Hawke told them, holding his hands up. "_Put your sword away_," he mouthed to Aveline. To his great relief, she nodded and complied. "They're blood mages then, Justice?" asked Hawke.

"Not all," answered the spirit. "Some innocents yet remain." He turned to face everyone and pointed at Fenris, Merrill and Hawke. "Warrior Elf, Female Elf, Mage: the weak and the innocent must be protected. Come with me."

"Hey! Who are _you_ calling 'weak'?" demanded Isabela with one hand on her hip.

"Not _now_, Isabela!" Hawke hissed. "Just do as he says. Please."

Isabela shook her head and sighed.

Fenris followed just behind Justice as they walked on. "Do not presume that I am following your orders, Spirit; I would walk ahead without your direction."

"I am aware of that, dauntless one," replied Justice, "which is why you are in the vanguard."

As Merrill and Hawke followed, Hawke whispered to her, "whatever you do, _don't _use blood magic, Merrill, no matter how dire the need."

"Why?" she asked loudly, and Hawke shushed her. "Doesn't he like it, or something?" she whispered.

"No, he doesn't; he'll probably kill you if you _do_ use it."

"Oh," Merrill said flatly. "He _really _doesn't like it, then. Oh, well! I seem to be in his good books at the moment; think I'd like to stay that way," she finished with a cute grin.

Hawke nodded, and then a frown settled over his features. Why _had _Merrill been given special favour by Justice? After all, she was a practising blood mage, one who would have a strong connection with her demon. Why had Justice not manifested himself during their first meeting with her? What was the difference between Merrill and the blood mages within the cave?

He had no time to consider this as the group were suddenly accosted by a frankly pathetic gaggle of skeletons, which rose from the ground and shambled towards Hawke and his companions, their insubstantial frames weighed down by the weapons they carried. They were quickly vanquished.

"They're raising the dead!" exclaimed Bethany.

"Well, if that's the best they can do, they should pose no threat to us," Aveline replied confidently.

"That was merely a warning, Human," said Justice, turning to face her. "You fight with the strength and heart of a lion; come, fight at my side."

Flattered, Aveline joined the head of the group along with Fenris, Hawke and Merrill. Hawke turned around and poked his tongue out at Varric, Bethany and Isabela. "How are you doing back there, _weak ones_?"

"Hey, we're just chilling, and letting you guys take all the heat," answered Varric with a chuckle. "Call us weak all you want; doesn't bother us none, does it, Sunshine?"

"Not at all, Brother; you go ahead and be brave. We'll just watch you from back here."

Hawke wrinkled his nose and turned away from them.

"Well _I _don't want to hang around on the sidelines," pouted Isabela. "When do we get to see some _real_ action?"

"Well, as Justice has appeared, I guess you'll get your wish shortly," Varric answered her. "Although, saying that, Justice _has _appeared, so we might not get much of a look in. He's pretty impressive."

"He _is_, isn't he?" agreed the pirate.

"Oh, you _must _be joking," groaned Bethany, and Isabela burst out laughing.

As they ventured further into the cave, Justice came to an abrupt halt and motioned for the others to stop. A few seconds later, a young man wearing a cowled robe ran towards them, stopping in his tracks upon spotting them.

"Did the Templars send you?" he asked nervously.

Hawke, noticing that Justice paid no attention to him, guessed he wasn't a blood mage. "We_ are_ here on behalf of the Templars, yes, but we're not going to hurt you."

He nodded quickly. "Decimus has gone mad," he began, pointing behind himself.

"Who?"

"One of the mages that escaped with us. I suspected that he already knew blood magic, but he's started raising the dead, and said he'll kill anyone who enters the main chamber! I want no part of this!"

"Go to the entrance of the cave," Hawke directed him as Justice charged ahead along with Fenris and Aveline. "Ser Thrask awaits you there; you'll be safe with him."

"Hawke," suggested Varric, "why don't we go with him, just in case these templar reinforcements show up outside?"

"That's a good idea, Varric; yes, take Bethany and Isabela with you."

"What? We've got to go all the way back?" moaned Isabela.

"You'll get to see some men in shiny armour with big swords," Hawke reasoned.

Isabela frowned and watched as Fenris disappeared around a corner. "But what about my elf?"

"Just get going," Hawke snapped, a sudden frostiness imbuing his words. "We haven't got all bloody day." He turned and walked away.

"Come on, ladies," said Varric, and Bethany's eyes lingered on her brother for a moment before the two groups went their separate ways.

By the time Hawke had caught up to the others, they had already entered the main chamber and Justice was conversing with a group of approximately a dozen mages who were spread out throughout the chamber.

"Lay down your weapons and surrender immediately," he commanded. "If you comply, you will not be harmed."

"They're working for the Templars!" a voice called from atop a wooden platform.

"No, Decimus! There are mages with them!" argued a dark-haired female who stood next to Justice.

"I care not what shield they carry!" answered Decimus, and all turned to face him as he surrounded himself in a sphere of protective magic. "Destroy them all!" he ordered as an orb of crackling black energy left his hands and slammed into both Fenris and Hawke, sending them sprawling onto their backs.

Decimus's cohorts immediately dropped back and began casting upon themselves, while Merrill attempted to dispel their magic, and Aveline ran up the steps leading to the wooden platform upon which Decimus stood.

"Aveline!" Hawke groaned, trying to push himself up. "Don't!" He looked over at Fenris, who was struggling to his feet, fury etched on his face.

"Begone, hag!" Decimus called out, sweeping his arms out toward Aveline, who flew through the air, crashed through the wooden guard along the wooden platform, and fell more than twenty feet to the ground, where she lay in a crumpled heap. At the same moment, the chamber was lit up as several of Decimus's cronies began attacking Fenris, Merrill and Justice.

"Aveline!" Hawke stumbled onto all fours and groggily crawled over to the stricken warrior.

Justice raised his arms into the air and Merrill and Fenris felt their skin tighten and harden, their enemies' attacks fizzling into nothing before they reached them. Fenris took immediate advantage of this and charged toward a group of five mages who were clustered together. In a flash of steel, two of them fell; their comrades scattered, screaming, as Fenris gave chase, a guttural growl issuing from him as his markings blazed into life.

"I gave you all fair warning!" bellowed Justice, smiting the ground with Anders's staff. "Now, behold as justice is done!"

He raised a hand toward Decimus, and, with a flick of his wrist, the blood mage was propelled at high speed toward the far wall of the chamber, meeting it head first. A collective gasp sounded around the chamber, and the dark-haired female mage ran over to her lover's destroyed body as it fell to the ground. Justice then advanced on Decimus's underlings, who, having been rounded up by Fenris and Merrill, cowered together in a corner.

"Lay down your weapons!" Hawke yelled as he tended to Aveline. "He won't attack you if you're unarmed!"

The trapped mages quickly cast their staves to the ground, but still Justice advanced. "Discarding your weapons will not absolve you of your crimes!"

"Justice!" called out Hawke. "I need Anders back! This woman may die without his help! Please!"

Justice turned and could see that Hawke was struggling to revive Aveline. "These criminals _must_ be punished! They _must_ face justice!" the spirit insisted.

"They will, Justice! Please, just let me have Anders back."

"Spirit," added Fenris as he waved his sword at the terrified mages. "Bring the mage back; I will see to it that they do not go unpunished. You have my word."

"Very well," said Justice to both Fenris and Hawke. "I would not see the female expire needlessly. I will accept your word. See that you do not break it."

Anders felt control of his body being returned to him, and he glimpsed Hawke frantically beckoning him over as his senses slowly became his own again.

"Hawke…how bad is she?" he mumbled, trudging over to where Hawke knelt next to Aveline.

"She's broken her pelvis, her shoulder, and has been knocked out cold," Hawke told him. "I'm working on her head injury, first."

"Good," replied Anders, blinking hard to clear his vision. He dropped to his knees and removed a lyrium potion from his pack, downing it in one. "I'll start on her pelvis."

As they worked on Aveline, Fenris turned back to the captured mages and sneered at them. "The Templars are coming for you," he told them smugly.

"No," protested Merrill.

"No, what?" barked Fenris. "_Your_ opinion is of no consequence here, Maleficar!"

"Don't you see?" she argued. "They were frightened of him! That young mage we met out in the tunnels was running away from him!"

"That is no excuse! They attacked us without provocation!"

"Will you two be quiet?" snapped Anders. "We're trying to concentrate, here!"

Merrill stared balefully at the elf, who glowered back at her in return, his lip curling into a sneer.

"Anders and Hawke won't allow the Templars to take them, you know," Merrill said quietly.

"What?"

"You heard me. You're outvoted, here; I know they'll do the right thing by their fellow mages."

"The _right thing_? And just how would someone who cavorts with _demons_ know what 'the right thing' is?" snarled Fenris.

Hawke looked up angrily from his work. "Shut the fuck up, before I paralyse you both!"

The elves turned away from each other, and Fenris took a few steps closer to the two healers, watching as they worked on Aveline, all the while keeping one eye on the weeping mage who knelt down next to Decimus, as well as the group who stood in the corner.

"That should do it, Hawke," Anders said after a while. "Let's bring her round."

Hawke nodded, and they combined their energies to rouse the warrior. Aveline gasped and went to sit up, only to be gently but firmly held down by two pairs of hands.

"Don't move," Hawke instructed her. "You sustained some serious injuries. We're going to take it nice and slowly, all right?"

Aveline nodded weakly, and looked up at the platform from where she'd fallen. "Bloody hell," she murmured. "I'm lucky to be alive. Is everyone else all right?"

"Everyone except that Decimus and a couple of blood mages, yes," answered Anders. "Come on; let's sit you up. Slowly."

Hawke and Anders assisted Aveline to sit, and she covered her eyes with one of her hands, feeling light-headed. "It'll pass," Hawke told her. "I'm afraid you're not going anywhere, tonight; there's no way you can travel back to Kirkwall in this condition."

"No, I must!" she protested. "Those thugs are going to attack Donnic, and that bastard Jeven will get away with it!"

"We'll sort something out," promised Hawke. "Don't worry, a few of us will go back to Kirkwall and we'll take care of it. You must rest for now, Aveline; that's not negotiable."

Aveline's body sagged in relief. "Thank you, Hawke. I knew you wouldn't let me down."

The two healers stood and aided Aveline to stand, leading her over to a small ledge upon which she could sit. Anders stayed with her while Hawke walked over to the group of mages. "Get going," he ordered them, pointing to the exit of the chamber. "The Templars are waiting outside for you."

Just as Merrill began to protest, the female mage that had stayed with Decimus walked over to Hawke. "Please," she entreated, wiping tears from her eyes, "we didn't know he was a blood mage; we tried to stop him, I swear to you."

"Stop him?" spat Hawke. "Oh yes, I remember that! They tried to stop him by attacking us as Aveline lay dying on the ground! Give us _some _credit, will you?"

"We were scared of him!" one of the captured mages called out. "We're sorry about your friend; we just want to leave here, peacefully."

"You _cannot_ leave," countered Fenris in a commanding voice. "There is no other way out of here, and, even if there were, I would not allow it."

Anders left Aveline's side and strode over to the group. "And who put _you _in charge?" he snapped at the elf.

"Anders," said Hawke, "we both promised Justice that they would not get away. Besides, they _should _be punished; they're dangerous…"

"Dangerous? Why, Hawke? Because they freed themselves from their jailors and want to make new lives for themselves?"

"No, Anders! They're dangerous because their leader almost killed Aveline and the rest of them attacked us after we gave them a chance to talk and surrender peacefully! _That's _why!"

"They were clearly under his thrall, Hawke!" Anders pointed to the group of cowering mages. "Look at them! Do they look dangerous, to you?"

"I don't care _what_ they look like!" Hawke argued fiercely. "If it hadn't been for Justice, I have no doubt they would have killed the lot of us! They didn't even care that we were here to help them! The fact they're mages has nothing to do with it!"

"There must be another way besides turning them over to the Templars, Hawke," protested Anders, unable to find an argument against Hawke's words.

"You're right," answered Hawke. "Aveline, I hereby turn these mages over to the city Guard. Happy now, Anders?"

"But the Guard will hand them over to the Templars!" Anders blustered as a grim smile settled over Fenris's face.

"Too bloody right, we will!" Aveline called over.

"All right then," said Hawke. "Never let it be said that I'm not fair. Let's put it to the vote: Anders, Merrill, your opinion is quite clear. Fenris?"

"Templars."

"Aveline?"

"Templars, Hawke."

"You're outvoted, Anders," Hawke began.

"You call that fair?" he protested. "The numbers are odd!"

"Well, then, let's ask Justice," answered Hawke. "That'll make the numbers even, won't it?"

Anders stared at Hawke and shook his head.

"Wait," said the dark-haired female mage, stepping forward. "Perhaps there is another way."

Hawk folded his arms and cocked an eyebrow. "Well?"

"My name is Grace," she said nervously. "Your friend is correct; we only want to get away from here and start a new life. We were trapped in here with little food or water and we've been expecting the Templars for days. When we saw you, we panicked. I am so sorry for what Decimus did to your friend, and also for attacking you. Please don't make us go back; if you release us, you will never hear from us again, I swear to you."

"No!" Fenris insisted, his hand slicing through the air. "These mages _must_ be confined. I gave my word to the spirit, and I will see it done, no matter what."

Hawke groaned and covered his face with his hands; a look of hope crossed Anders's face as he watched his friend carefully.

Sensing that Hawke was uncertain, Grace continued. "Look; there is a lone templar standing guard outside. All you have to do is eliminate him, and we can leave."

"What?" Hawke spun around to face her.

Anders nodded. "It makes sense, Hawke; he's only one against all of us. The Templars need never know. We can…"

"Have you taken leave of your senses?" asked Hawke in dismay. "You want us to kill the man who was trying to help these people?"

"He's only a templar, Hawke…"

Hawke's mouth fell open and he stared at Anders in disbelief. "The man outside is the one you felt so sorry for when his daughter died! Where's your compassion, now? What's wrong with you?"

"This is different, Hawke!"

"We are _not _killing him!" Hawke turned to Grace, pointing an accusing finger. "And you have just proved me right; there's _nothing_ you lot wouldn't do. You _are _dangerous, and you're going to the Templars!"

"I'm surprised at you, Hawke," Anders said bitterly, his words loaded with meaning. "I thought you of all people would sympathise with them and what they've had to turn to in order to free themselves!"

As a furious look came into Hawke's eyes, Anders realised his mistake. "…Being a fellow mage, I mean. With you being a fellow mage."

"Fenris," said Hawke coldly, still glaring at Anders. "Round them up. We're taking them out."

"With pleasure," answered the elf. "Move!" he commanded them, and they began shuffling toward the exit.

"No," said Grace. "If we're going to the Templars, then so are you!" she said to Hawke and Anders.

"We're _working_ for the Templars, genius," Hawke retorted.

"And do they know that your friend here is possessed?"

"Hey!" Anders blustered. "I've just been sticking up for you lot!"

"As you stated," she said to Hawke, "there's nothing we won't do for our freedom."

"Just you try it," threatened Hawke. "If you want another fight, we'll give you one, and, believe me, with Justice on our side, you'll end up like your boyfriend over there. Your choice."

The two mages stared at each other for a moment before Grace turned away and joined the other mages, angrily shaking her head and muttering under her breath.

"Merrill, stay with Aveline until we get back," ordered Hawke in a tone that would suffer no argument. "Fenris, go on ahead; we'll catch you up. I need to speak with Anders."

Fenris nodded, his eyes lingering on the two mages for a few seconds. He then began barking orders and threats at the captured mages as he led them out.

Hawke walked forward a short distance, with Anders following, until he was certain Aveline and Merrill couldn't hear.

"Hawke…" Anders began.

Hawke slowly turned to face Anders, his brown eyes almost black with fury. "What are you trying to do, Anders? Get me killed, or something?"

"Look, I'm sorry; I was just trying to convince you…I didn't actually say it, did I?"

"You almost did! You were that close!" hissed Hawke. "I trusted you with this, Anders! Do I have to live in fear now that it will just slip off your tongue at an inconvenient moment?"

"What are you afraid of, Hawke? Is it Fenris you don't want to know? He knows about Merrill, doesn't he? He hasn't killed her or turned her over to the Templars, has he?"

"The reason I don't want him to know is _my_ business, Anders! The fact is I told you in confidence, and you almost…"

Anders nodded quickly. "Well, it all makes sense now. No wonder you've been spending so much time with him."

"_What_? What are you talking about?"

"You're not fooling anyone, Hawke," Anders snapped, walking away from him. "It's pretty obvious to me what's going on. Well, on your head be it."

"Is that what this is all about, Anders? Your concern for me earlier on? All this 'you know who your real friends are'? You're jealous, aren't you?"

"Jealous?" Anders turned and gaped at Hawke. "I'm _trying _to be a friend to you! Fenris _hates _mages: look at the way he herded them through the cave like cattle! They're nothing to him, and yet you've hardly left his side over the last few days!"

"We were _doing_ jobs together! And, in case you'd forgotten, he was injured!" Hawke shook his head. "Wait…why am I explaining myself to you?"

"Yes, why, Hawke? Perhaps you feel you _need_ to explain yourself?"

"You know something, Anders?" Hawke said in a quieter voice. "I've seen a different side to you today, and I'm not sure I like it."

"Well that makes two of us," sniped Anders, and he turned and walked off, leaving Hawke seething.

Hawke remained where he was for a few minutes, willing his stomach to stop churning, and for his hands to stop shaking. Having no success, he pressed ahead; with the way he felt about Anders at that moment, he wouldn't put it past him to waylay Fenris and free the mages. Remembering that Bethany was at the entrance to the cave, he picked up his pace.

Eventually reaching the mouth of the cave, Hawke found the corralled mages standing outside, where more templars had also arrived. Anders was nowhere to be seen.

Varric turned toward Hawke and winked hard at him. "Ah, First Enchanter; there you are!"

Keeping his expression neutral, Hawke stepped forward. "What's going on here?" he asked.

"I was just explaining to Ser Karras, here," said Varric, pointing to a templar with bushy sideburns, "about the work you're doing for the Circle in Starkhaven. Another job well done, First Enchanter Hawke!"

Ser Karras stepped forward and eyed Hawke suspiciously. "Aren't you a bit young to be First Enchanter?"

Hawke rolled his eyes. "Where have you been, man? In case you hadn't heard, the Circle in Starkhaven burned to the ground! There aren't that many of us left!" He glanced over at the group of mages, his eyes daring them to contradict him.

"And you say you're from Starkhaven?" asked Karras. "You sound Fereldan, to me."

Ignoring Karras, Hawke turned to Varric. "I really don't have the time to explain myself to rank-and-file templars. I'll speak with their knight-commander when we get back to Kirkwall."

"There's no need to bother the knight-commander with this," insisted Karras, holding his hands up in appeasement. "Well, we have the mages back, that's the main thing." His eyes narrowed slightly at Hawke, and then he turned to his men. "Come on, then; let's get this lot back to The Gallows."

The templars moved the mages into another small group and surrounded them. As they departed, Ser Thrask whispered to Hawke and Varric, "Thank you, my friends; I will ensure that you are well-compensated for your trouble." He then quickly joined the templar/mage party, and Hawke and the others waited until they'd disappeared from sight.

Once they'd gone, Hawke slumped against the cave wall.

"Hawke, I'm proud of you," said Varric. "You've now graduated from the Varric Tethras School of Bullshit!" Glancing at Bethany, he cleared his throat. "Sorry, Sunshine!" Bethany laughed, shaking her head.

"Where's Anders?" asked Hawke.

"He said he had to get back to the clinic," answered Bethany.

Hawke nodded and released a long breath. "We need to decide what we're going to do; Aveline is not fit to travel back today…" Hawke explained what had happened inside the cave. "…but some of us need to go back to Kirkwall to finish this job of hers." He fell silent for a few minutes, deep in thought; leaving certain combinations of people together would not be a good idea. "Does anyone _have _to be back in Kirkwall tonight?" he asked, and his companions either shook their heads or said no.

"Right. I'll take Fenris and Merrill with me. Bethany and Varric, you stay here, and I'll come back for you tomorrow. Is that all right with everyone?" They nodded.

"And what about me?" demanded Isabela.

Hawke sighed inwardly; he didn't think Bethany would welcome her presence, but neither did he particularly want her accompanying his group. He paused for second as he asked himself why, and then quickly brushed that thought aside. "Of course, Isabela; you'll come with us."

"Don't forget to let Mother know that I won't be home," said Bethany.

"I won't," Hawke promised. "The mages left some of their belongings behind," he told Varric and Bethany, reaching into his pack. "Everyone, give what food and water you have to them." Isabela, Fenris and Hawke handed their rations over to the couple. "We'd better get going before the sun starts to set," said Hawke.

"We'll be fine, Brother," Bethany said with a smile.

"Will you send Merrill out to us? We'll wait here for her," requested Hawke.

"Sure thing, Hawke," said Varric as he and Bethany walked in.

Hawke grabbed the dwarf's arm and stopped him. "I expect my sister to be in one piece when I return in the morning," he teased.

"You should be more concerned for your friend, here," muttered Varric, pointing at himself. "I'll be spending an entire night with two women, who'll probably spend the entire time saying stuff like, 'ooh, where did you get that _adorable _hairpin?' and such. I'm gonna have to chug a few beers and kill some bandits when I get back, just to restore my manliness to its natural levels."

"The sacrifices we have to make, eh, Varric?" joked Hawke. "See you in the morning."

Varric shook his head and laughed, and led Bethany into the cave.

Aware that Fenris had been watching him, Hawke turned to the elf. "Something the matter, Fenris?"

Fenris shook his head. "No. I am merely surprised that you allowed the mages to be taken by the templars. I did not expect you to do that."

"I didn't do it to impress you, Fenris," replied Hawke, turning his back on the elf. He walked a short distance away, feeling troubled. Not so long ago, he had promised himself that he would not turn on his own kind.

So why _had _he done it, then?


	15. Chapter 15

"So, Fenris…these tattoos of yours…"

"They are _not _tattoos," he answered wearily.

Isabela shrugged her shoulders, undaunted. "Well, whatever they are, then. Do they cover _all _of your body?"

Fenris sighed. He'd tried to evade Isabela's questions, had attempted to walk away, and had even been quite abrupt with her, but still she persisted, seemingly oblivious to his discomfort. "Yes, they cover my entire body. Why do you want…"

"Really?" Isabela's eyes lit up and travelled up the length of Fenris's body. He shivered and increased the distance between them, only for it to be immediately closed again by the tiresome woman. "Even on your…you know?"

"On my what? Oh…no. No!"

"Good to know," she whispered with a waggle of her eyebrows.

"Have you hurt your eye, Isabela?" Merrill asked the pirate. "It's just that you look like you're winking at him all the time."

"That's because she _is _winking at me," Fenris grumbled. "I wish you would desist!"

"Well, what do you expect?" asked Isabela. "Walking around, looking the way you do…"

"Looking the way I do? What do you mean by that?"

"Ha! Well _that's _fishing for a compliment, if ever I heard it!"

"I am _not _fishing for a compliment!"

Merrill giggled. "That's what women say all the time, Fenris. It doesn't fool anyone."

"Do I _look _like a woman to you, Blood Mage?" Fenris snarled.

Hawke growled under his breath and quickened his pace, taking himself even further ahead of the rest of the group. He was beyond irritated with his companions' constant prattle; the part of him that did feel irritation seemed to have shut down, apparently having exceeded its daily limit. He felt weary, but it was a mental weariness, and he regretted his decision to leave Varric and Bethany behind; they would have provided much more soothing company.

He then thought of Anders, and, immediately, his weariness left him, his jaw and hands clenching tightly. Anders _knew _that Aveline wouldn't be able to travel, and Hawke had wanted a healer to stay behind with her. The only reason Hawke had left Aveline was because he didn't know what they would face in Lowtown, and would need to be on hand to tend to any injuries. How could Anders be so selfish? Was he going to run off every time someone disagreed with him? Even _Fenris_ hadn't abandoned him when he'd decided to take Feynriel to the Dalish.

And would Anders really have killed Thrask? Anders's compassion, so evident in his handling of the refugees, did have limits, it seemed; obviously a templar's life held little value to him, but, as far as Hawke was concerned, that attitude was not compatible with being a good healer.

Or was he being unfair on Anders? Was Hawke's anger, which sat so easily on Anders's shoulders, really directed at himself? Anders, after all, had not abandoned _his_ principles back in the cave. Had Hawke? Was he so obsessed with getting the money together for the expedition that he'd forgotten, or had chosen to ignore, everything Anders had told him about life in the Circle? Had Hawke forgotten all those times he and his sister had had to hide from the Templars while Carver had spun them yet another story, hating himself for doing so? Had he forgotten how easily he could have lived the life that Anders had?

And now Hawke was working for those very same templars, taking their coin for imprisoning mages. Perhaps Anders had good reason to be angry with him. How far, though, would Anders go for the sake of his principles? Would the death of an innocent templar have been justifiable to him? Hawke shook his head. Clearly, his and Anders's principles were very different. Would that fact affect the friendship they'd built? Would Hawke ever to be able to look at Anders in the same way again?

"Hawke?" called Isabela, and he blinked, halted and turned around.

"Yes, Isabela?"

Isabela and the others caught up to Hawke, and she pointed at Fenris's face; he flinched and edged away from her. "I think that Fenris would look much more distinguished with a beard. I _like _beards. What do you think?"

"Elves do not grow beards," Fenris told her morosely. "How many more times…"

"Well, perhaps you _should_," urged Isabela.

"No," laughed Merrill. "Elves are not hairy, like humans are. We have hair on our heads, oh, and our eyebrows, as well, and that's about it."

"You mean you don't have any…" Isabela's eyes dropped to Fenris's groin, and the elf cast a pleading look at Hawke, who coolly met his gaze for a second before he turned away and continued walking. Fenris then remembered his conversation with Hawke earlier that day, and watched him for a moment, once again feeling a pang of guilt. Perhaps he shouldn't have let Hawke down so abruptly; that had been discourteous of him, if nothing else.

"Fenris? I'm talking to you! Do you have pubes or _not_?" Isabela demanded.

"Why must you persist with this line of questioning?" asked Fenris irritably, not without a mite of desperation in his voice. "Is that all you ever think about? Men, and their…appendages?"

"No, of course not!" answered Isabela with mock indignation. "I _do_ think about other things, sometimes…right now, I'm struggling to remember what they might be, but I resent the implication that I'm obsessed with willies!"

"Then perhaps you should cease mentioning them with every sentence that passes your lips," Fenris rebuked. "It is said that one who _speaks_ of something incessantly, is not _getting _something."

"Ooh…is that an offer?" Isabela purred, stepping closer to Fenris.

"What…? No, it is not!" exclaimed Fenris, once again moving away from her.

"Maker, you're a tough one," she groused, folding her arms. "Oh, don't tell me…do _you _bat for the other team, as well?"

Fenris's brow creased in confusion. "_What_ other team? I do not understand these colloquialisms of yours!"

"My, that's a big word!" chirped Merrill.

"Yes, and you know what they say about men who use big words…"

The conversation continued much in this vein until the sun set and the group reached the outskirts of Kirkwall. Hawke was relieved beyond words to set foot in Lowtown, knowing that soon his companions would have to shut up while they laid in wait for Donnic's would-be attackers.

"I'm popping home to speak to my mother," he told them as they walked through the slums. "If any of you have anything you need to take care of…"

"Oh, I'd love to see your house!" Merrill squeaked excitedly. "I bet it's dead posh, and big, as well."

Hawke rolled his eyes, unable to stop his laughter. "I don't know what _your_ definition of posh is, Merrill, but this isn't it, trust me. Come on, then." He led them up the steps to Gamlen's home and took out his key, pausing at the door.

"Isabela, you're about to meet my mother. Do you think you could keep the _penis_ comments to a minimum? Or not say anything at all?"

"Yes, I can, Hawke. Like I said, I'm not obsessed, just…enthusiastic, that's all."

Fenris snorted. "Prodigiously so."

Hawke opened the door and ushered the two ladies through. "Mother?" he called, turning to face Fenris, who remained at the threshold. "Come on in, Fenris; don't stand out in the cold."

Fenris nodded diffidently and entered. "Thank you."

"Oh, hello, dear!" said Leandra, who walked over to Hawke and embraced him. She then looked at his three companions. "You've brought some friends home? How wonderful!"

"Yes, this is Fenris, Isabela and Merrill." To his relief, the two ladies nodded respectfully, and Fenris bowed. "I'm not staying for long, Mother; we have some business to take care of. I just stopped by to let you know that Beth won't be home tonight."

"Oh?" Leandra asked, and Hawke explained his sister's absence, leaving some details out. "Well, you'll stay for some tea, won't you?" she offered, gesturing toward the dining table.

"Yes, I suppose we have a little time," answered Hawke. "Take a seat, everyone."

As Leandra went into the kitchen, the four of them settled themselves at the table. "It's nice and cosy in here," commented Merrill, looking around.

"Not posh, then?" Hawke asked with a grin.

"Not exactly," Merrill answered diplomatically, "but those posh places are so big and draughty. Not that I've ever been in a posh place, mind you, so I wouldn't know. I'm guessing. It's lovely and warm in here."

"Well, it has a roof; that's the main thing," answered Hawke.

Leandra brought the tea in a short time later, with a plate of biscuits, which she placed at the centre of the table before taking a seat next to Hawke. "There is some shortbread for you there, Fenris; Fletcher told me you like it."

Fenris, who was sat opposite to Hawke, smiled shyly. "I very much enjoyed your shortbread, madam; that was a thoughtful gift, for which I was very grateful."

"So polite," Leandra said to Hawke, who nodded, watching Fenris closely. "Well, do help yourselves."

A chorus of thank-yous rose around the table, and they all began to tuck in. Fenris waited until everyone else had taken a biscuit, before reaching for a piece of shortbread and taking a small bite out of it.

"Never before have I seen such excellent table manners," Leandra remarked with a sidelong glance at her son. "And _yours_ seem to have improved all of a sudden, Fletcher."

Hawke groaned. "Is this the part where my mother embarrasses me in front of my friends?"

"That _is_ part of a mother's duties, yes," answered Leandra, and Isabela and Merrill laughed while Fenris quietly choked on his biscuit, taking a sip of tea to remedy his predicament.

After a pleasant, if slightly embarrassing chat, Hawke rose and helped to clear the cups away. "Thank you for the tea, Mother. We should get going, now."

"Well do put on something warm, Fletcher," she advised. "There's going to be a frost, tonight."

"Mother, I'm _fine_," he insisted through gritted teeth, suddenly grateful that Varric had _not _accompanied them; the dwarf would never have let him hear the end of it. "Don't get waiting up for me. I may not actually be back until the morning; this could be a long job."

"Please be careful, dear," said Leandra, kissing Hawke's cheek.

"He will be kept safe, madam," Fenris assured her, and Hawke shot him a confused glance.

After saying their goodbyes, they left the house and walked down the steps. "Thank you all for behaving yourselves," Hawke said.

Isabela pretended to wipe sweat from her brow. "That was difficult. May I start talking about cocks, again, now?"

"No, you may _not_," growled Fenris.

"I'm joking! No, Hawke, thanks for inviting us in. Your mother's a nice lady."

Merrill nodded. "She's lovely, and she makes nice biscuits."

Hawke noticed Fenris's eyes dart between the two women, and sensed that the elf had something to say, but didn't want to say it in front of the others. Hawke dropped back a little, as did Fenris; a few minutes passed before the elf finally spoke.

"Thank you for inviting me into your home, Hawke."

"It's a bit of a comedown from your place, isn't it, Fenris?" commented Hawke.

Fenris shook his head. "I live in a large, cold mansion that does not belong to me. It is not a home. You have a home, Hawke, and many would envy you that."

The two men walked on quietly for a moment, and, once again, Hawke was struck by the thought that Fenris must be terribly lonely. Why, then, did he insist on pushing everyone away? Why had Fenris been so rude to him when he'd gone to check on his leg?

"Thank you for being so polite to Mother," Hawke said eventually. "She's not used to manners, what with me and Gamlen around."

"Who is Gamlen?" asked Fenris.

"My uncle."

"Oh."

"You've always been very respectful of Bethany, as well. I just wanted you to know that I appreciate it."

Fenris inclined his head, and then cleared his throat. "Perhaps my manners need work in other areas?"

"Perhaps," replied Hawke.

As they neared central Lowtown, Hawke realised again that Fenris was watching him, and turned to face him.

"Hawke…" Fenris began.

"Yes?"

Fenris looked at the ground and frowned. "Nothing; it doesn't matter." He moved a little ahead of Hawke, his eyes still cast upon the ground. For a moment, Hawke was tempted to ask Fenris what he'd wanted to say, but, as his stomach began churning, a confused Hawke thought better of it.

Following Aveline's directions, Hawke's group found a set of blind alleys that lay directly along Donnic's patrol route; she'd guessed that this would be the most likely spot for an ambush. Hiding behind barrels and crates, the four companions settled themselves in and waited.

They were not disappointed: after half an hour or so, a gang of roughs, eight in number, entered the first alley, looked around, and disappeared around a corner. Hawke smiled to himself. He and the other three were in the perfect position to not only catch the thugs in the act, but also to quickly leap to Donnic's aid.

Before long, Fenris, who was nearest to the entrance to the alley, spotted a heavily-built guard matching Aveline's description of Donnic striding towards them, a bulging leather satchel slung over his shoulder and hip.

"He's here," he whispered to Hawke, who then signalled over for Merrill and Isabela to make themselves ready.

Donnic entered the alley and stopped dead as he heard the sound of a weapon being unsheathed. Isabela grimaced and paused, her hand stilled on the hilt of her dagger as she removed it from her back.

"Who's there?" asked Donnic in a gruff, authoritative voice, unsheathing his own sword.

For a few tense seconds, nothing happened, and then everything seemed to happen at once. The gang of thugs charged around the corner, two of them slamming into Donnic and knocking him to the ground, while four of them sped to the entrance to the alley, keeping watch as Donnic was dragged around the corner.

A quick change of tactics was in order, however, as Merrill, Isabela and Fenris emerged from their hiding places; the two women went after Donnic and his attackers, and Fenris went for the four men standing guard. Hawke ran across the alley, from where he could see both groups, and began to cast spells that would protect the women and Donnic, although he didn't cast anything on Fenris.

Isabela and Merrill seemed to be holding their own, assisted by Donnic, who, although having sustained a blow to the head, fought ably in the tight space of the narrow alleyway.

A blue glow lit the main part of the alley, and two thugs fell to the ground, blood gushing through holes in their chests. Fenris vociferated in rage and pain and launched himself at a third thug, not noticing as one of the others had crept behind him.

"Fenris! Behind you!" shouted Hawke, emerging from his hiding place.

Too late to hear his warning, Fenris was grabbed from behind and slammed against a pile of crates. Thrashing his arms and growling, Fenris was helpless as the thug tightened his grip around Fenris's waist and straightened the elf up, ready for a beating from his friend.

Then, everything seemed to stand still. Hawke watched helplessly as Fenris's sword clattered to the ground, his body limp and sagging in the thug's arms.

_The man's grip around his waist tightened and would not let go. Hot breath against his ear, stubble scratching against his neck, a gravelly voice, the smell of sweat and musk and sex…_

Lights exploded in Fenris's vision as a fist connected sharply with his cheek.

"Get your hands off him!" yelled Hawke, breaking from cover and smashing his staff across the back of the thug's head, breaking it in half. The thug crumpled to the ground, and, as Hawke readied a spell, the other thug released Fenris and tackled Hawke to the ground, breaking his concentration.

Punches rained down on Hawke, dazing him momentarily, and, as the thug reached for a dagger, Hawke gasped and tried to wriggle free, but his arms were pinned in place by the thug's knees as he sat atop him. "Fenris!" Hawke called out in desperation.

"The elf can't help you now," sneered the thug, the tip of his dagger pressing against Hawke's throat.

Hawke spat in his face.

Suddenly, the thug's dagger fell from his hands and he looked into Hawke's eyes, his breathing quickening as a look of absolute terror fell across his face. "Wh-what…?" The thug hastily got to his feet, slowly backing away from Hawke and then falling to his knees. "Please! Please don't h-hurt me!" he begged, tears spilling from his eyes.

At that moment, Merrill rounded the corner, her arm outstretched toward the terrified thug, who promptly slumped to the ground, fast asleep. He then began to tremble violently, and screamed as unimaginable horrors came to him in his dreams. Merrill knelt down next to the thug. "Shut it, you!" she commanded, and the thug quietened, softly whimpering in his sleep.

"Thanks, Merrill; for a moment there, I thought I was a goner!" Hawke pushed himself to his feet, rubbing at his windpipe, and immediately looked around for Fenris; he was gone.

Isabela, who was covered in blood, then walked around the corner, propping up a dazed Donnic. Hawke ran over to them and assisted the battered guard to sit on a barrel.

"Guardsman Donnic, my name is Hawke; Aveline sent us."

"A-Aveline?" Donnic clutched his head and squeezed his eyes shut as Hawke placed his hands on the guard's head.

"You have a concussion," Hawke told him. "I'm a healing mage. I'm going to use magic on you; is that all right?"

Donnic grunted and nodded, and felt his strength and clarity return as Hawke sent calming energy into him.

"Isabela!" Hawke exclaimed, noticing the blood on her dress. "I'm sorry, are you hurt?"

She laughed. "Don't worry, handsome; it's not my blood."

Hawke nodded and smiled in relief, and then glanced at the entrance to the alley, wondering where Fenris had gotten to.

"What's going on?" asked Donnic. "How did Aveline know about this?"

As Hawke explained Aveline's suspicions about Jeven, a grim look befell Donnic's face, and he shook his head angrily. "That bastard! I always knew he was bent, but there's been no proof, up until now, that is." Donnic stood up and placed a protective hand over the satchel. "I'm going straight back to the barracks to sort this out!"

"Wait," said Hawke. "This was Aveline's idea; I think she should be the one, don't you?"

Donnic sighed. "Yes, you're right; I shouldn't deny Aveline the pleasure of having that bastard arrested."

"And won't it be fun to make Jeven sweat a bit when his hired thugs don't report back?" added Isabela.

"That it will," agreed Donnic with a sly smile. "Hawke, you say?" he asked the mage, who nodded. "Yes, Aveline's mentioned you. Says good things about you, she does."

"Does she?"

"Yes. Where _is_ Aveline, anyway?"

"She was injured," explained Hawke. "We had to leave her…"

"_Injured_? How badly? Where is she?" asked Donnic, concerned.

"She's all right, she just can't travel tonight," Hawke replied, and Donnic exhaled. "My sister and my friend are looking after her. I'm going back for her in the morning."

"I'll go with you," Donnic insisted.

"That's fine. Are you going to continue with your patrol?"

"Yes, I only have an hour or so left, and it's best that nothing seems untoward. I'll get some of my colleagues to clear away this refuse," he said with a nod at the dead or unconscious thugs that littered the alley.

"You probably shouldn't go back to the barracks after your shift," Hawke advised. "Is there anywhere else you can stay for tonight?"

Donnic shook his head. "No…my family all live outside Kirkwall."

"There's a room at The Hanged Man," offered Isabela, and Hawke raised an eyebrow. "Not mine!" she protested. "There's an empty one. Tell you what, I'll go and see to that now. You coming, Merrill?"

"All right, then," chirped the elf, and Donnic gave them his sincere thanks as they went on their way.

"Are you going to be all right?" Donnic asked Hawke. "Where do you live? I'll escort you home."

"No, that's not necessary, but thanks all the same," answered Hawke. "I, erm, I need to look for someone."

"Need any help? It's the least I can do," offered Donnic.

"No thanks. I think I have an idea of where he might be."

Donnic nodded and extended his hand to Hawke, who shook it. "Keep yourself safe, Hawke. Shall I wait for you at The Hanged Man?"

"Yes, I'll be there early tomorrow morning."

"All right; I'll see you then. Thank you for everything you've done. I hope you find your friend." Donnic glanced at the thugs again, shook his head, and left the alley.

Hawke sat upon a barrel, taking a few deep breaths. What had happened to Fenris during the fight? He'd just relinquished control of himself and had seemed to go into a trance, almost as though he'd been somewhere else.

Somewhere else.

As Hawke remembered Fenris being restrained from behind and being bent over the shattered crates, a feeling of cold dread crept over him and he stood, but then hesitated. Should he go and check on Fenris? Would he get the same icy reception the elf had given him before, or worse?

Perhaps that didn't even matter; Hawke knew he wouldn't be able to get a wink of sleep until he knew that Fenris was safe.

He walked over to the entrance, determination in his steps, and, just as he was about to depart, he caught a glimpse of white from behind one of the crates. He stopped, his heart slowing almost with uncertainty, and he quietly walked over to the crates, peering over them.

There, on the ground, sat Fenris, his knees drawn up to his chest and his hands covering his face.

"Fenris?" asked Hawke gently, and the elf started, but did not move his hands. Hawke moved one of the crates away and squatted down next to him a few feet away. "Fenris…it's over; they're all dead or knocked out…"

"I placed you in danger," Fenris said, his voice unsteady.

"No, Fenris, it doesn't matter; everyone's all right."

"There are no excuses!" snapped Fenris, and Hawke could see from beneath Fenris's hands that his face was contorted. "You relied on me to protect you, and I failed you all!"

"Fenris…"

"Go! Leave me be!" ordered the elf, a fine tremor in his hands.

Hawke stood up. "No. I'm not leaving you like this. Come on; I'll see you home."

Fenris moved his hands away from his face and fixed Hawke with a wild look, unshed tears threatening to spill from his eyes. "Why must you always be like this? Why will you not leave me alone? Have I not made myself clear? I do not need you, or anyone!"

"I beg to differ, Fenris," Hawke said quietly, and Fenris once again covered his face, his body slumping against a crate. "Come on; the Guard will be here soon. Do you want them to see you like this, as well?"

Fenris howled in frustration and scrambled to his feet, muttering to himself as he pushed past Hawke.

Hawke struggled to keep up with Fenris as he charged through Lowtown and sped up the hundreds of steps leading to Hightown. Before he was even halfway up, Hawke was out of breath.

"Fenris! You're not going to leave me to die here, are you?" he called plaintively.

"Heal yourself!" Fenris barked in reply.

"I don't have an out-of-breath spell…" Giving up, Hawke stopped and braced his hands on his knees, gasping for air.

Fenris turned and also stopped, shaking his head. "You are the one who insisted on following me! It is not my fault you cannot keep up!"

"Yes…you're right…" Hawke sat down on the wall and glanced up at the elf. "I need a minute. Carry on if you like."

Fenris folded his arms, his mouth set in a hard line, but he remained where he was. "Are you ready now?" he asked after a few moments.

Hawke stood up and grinned. "Yes, I think so," he answered, and started to laugh.

"What is so funny?" asked Fenris shortly.

"Nothing."

Fenris huffed and resumed his trek up the steps, while Hawke, still laughing, followed behind. For all his bluster, Fenris was a decent man who cared for others, Hawke had decided, no matter how hard Fenris tried to conceal that fact with his aloof manner, cutting remarks and swearing in Arcanum.

He _was _worth the trouble.

Arriving at the mansion, Fenris took out his key and watched Hawke warily as he opened the door. "I am fine, now," said the elf.

"Aren't you going to offer me a cup of tea?" asked Hawke, sensing that Fenris was not going to allow him to enter.

"What?"

"A cup of tea. I walked all the way up those steps for you."

"I did not ask you…!" Fenris stopped himself and sighed, and walked inside, leaving the door open for Hawke. "The tea is in the kitchen. I am retiring. See yourself out." Fenris headed straight for the stairs.

"No, I think I'll be staying here, tonight," Hawke announced, and Fenris came to an abrupt halt on the stairs.

"That settee will do nicely," said Hawke, pointing to a large couch next to the fire.

"There is no need for you to stay here," Fenris spluttered. "I do not require company."

"I just thought you might feel better knowing someone was here."

"And how do _you_ know how I feel?" Fenris descended the stairs and stopped a short distance away from Hawke. "You know nothing about me!"

"I'm beginning to," replied Hawke gently.

"So, you feel pity for the poor slave, do you? You think you can wave your hands, or cast a spell that will make everything better? Well, some things never get better, Hawke!"

Hawke said nothing, and looked at Fenris while the elf took a deep breath. "Go home," uttered Fenris, who then turned and once again headed for the stairs.

"I'm staying."

Fenris's body tensed, and, without facing Hawke, he once again muttered something under his breath. "You are the most…!"

"Your act doesn't fool me, Fenris. I'm staying."

With another growl of frustration, Fenris stomped up the stairs and up to his room, slamming the door behind him. Hawke then heard a click as the door was locked.

After collecting his thoughts for a few minutes, Hawke made his way to the kitchen, where he made a cup of tea and some salted porridge, into which he mixed a few dried vegetables and meats. Not thinking much of his concoction after tasting it, he tipped it away and made another cup of tea, which he drank in the kitchen, before washing his cup and bowl.

He made his way back to the vestibule of the mansion, and, using his hands – having broken his staff – he got a fire going in the hearth, and turned to the settee, frowning and cocking his head to one side.

Upon the settee were two neatly-folded blankets and a pillow.

Hawke walked over to the settee, a huge grin lighting up his face, and he glanced up at the door to Fenris's room, which was closed.

"Thank you, Fenris," he called out, and made up his bed for the night. He then removed his boots and settled down on the settee, quickly drifting off to sleep.


	16. Chapter 16

Through half-closed eyes, Hawke could barely discern the dim glow of the dying fire. He rubbed his eyes, wincing as his hand touched a tender spot on his cheek. Oh, yes…the fight. He sighed and closed his eyes again, yawning loudly. He really would have to get into Fenris's good books and do a deal with him for this settee, he thought; it was more comfortable than his bed back in Lothering had been, and infinitely better than sleeping on a draughty floor next to a snoring and farting Gamlen.

At the sound of a throat being cleared, adrenaline coursed through him and his eyes snapped open, slowly focusing on a slight black figure next to the fireplace. He blinked several times and rubbed his eyes again.

"Fenris?"

The elf stood next to the fireplace, dressed in a thin black tunic and his ever-present leggings. Hawke wondered for a moment if he slept in them, before pushing himself up a little and reclining on his elbow.

"I heard you moving about," Fenris said from the shadows in a slightly awkward tone. "I remembered that you wished to rise early."

Hawke squinted and looked over to the windows; the drapes were open but it still appeared to be night-time outside. "But the sun isn't even up yet, Fenris."

"It will be, shortly. I am accustomed to rising at this hour; I apologise if I awakened you prematurely."

Hawke slowly sat up and pushed his blankets aside, smoothing his robe down to cover his legs. "No, it's all right; I suppose I do need to make an early start. We used to have to get up this early back at home; working on the farm, you know? I can't say I ever became _accustomed_, to it, though." He once again yawned and sat back on the settee, closing his eyes for a moment. Hearing the soft padding of Fenris's feet moving away from him, he opened them.

"You're always up at this time?" he asked Fenris. "Don't you ever have a lie-in?"

Fenris paused, snorting softly to himself. "I was always required to rise early; I had to draw Danarius's bath and lay out a choice of clothing for him. Then…I had to wake him."

Hawke detected terseness in Fenris's last few words. "Didn't he have servants to do that for him?"

Fenris shrugged. "He required that I did it."

"Well, you don't have to do that anymore, do you?" asked Hawke. "Why don't you treat yourself now and then, and get up late?"

"I cannot," he replied, shaking his head. "I am unable to remain in one position for too long."

"Is that because of the markings?" Hawke asked, by now sitting on the edge of the settee. "Because they hurt you?"

Fenris sighed and cleared his throat, turning slightly toward the fireplace, a soft orange glow falling across his face. "If you wish to bathe, there is…"

"Oh, Fenris!" Hawke exclaimed, standing up and walking over to him. "Your eye!"

Fenris placed a hand over his very swollen and bruised left eye. "Yes, it is swollen."

Hawke tilted his head and leaned a little closer for a better look; as he did so, he caught the scent of wine. Fenris immediately took a step back. "Sorry, I didn't mean to stare," said Hawke, also stepping back. "Shit, I could have done something about that last night, if I'd thought; now, it'll take about a week for that to go down. I'm sorry, Fenris."

"There is no need to apologise," answered Fenris, looking at the floor. "I did not exactly give you the opportunity to examine it."

Hawke chuckled. "That's very true. I should probably tell you now that there's no point in arguing with me, ever, because I'm always right: I'm a stubborn git."

"…So I noticed," Fenris said hesitantly, glancing up at Hawke. "Your…_your_ face is also bruised."

"Oh, I'm sure it is." Hawke once again touched his cheek, smarting a little. "Well, look at it this way, Fenris: nobody's going to mess with us, looking the way we do, are they?"

"I suppose not," replied Fenris with a thin smile. "Well, I am going to bathe. There is another bathtub in the scullery, should you wish to use it."

"How do you heat your water?" asked Hawke.

"I don't."

"You bathe in cold water?" asked Hawke, and Fenris nodded. "I could heat it for you, if you like," he offered. "I would…have to use magic, though."

"No, that is not necessary, but thank you. I prefer it cold."

"Fenris," Hawke ventured, "does hot water cause you pain?"

Fenris shrugged.

"I see," said Hawke. "You know…perhaps_ I_ could do something for the pain? If-if you would let me examine…"

"No thank you," Fenris said brusquely, and then sighed. "I…have already sought the services of a healer, when I first fled Minrathous. She told me that there is nothing to be done."

Hawke nodded slowly, stroking his beard. "Is the pain severe?"

"I have learned to live with it."

"That's not answering my question," Hawke chided.

"It is…I suppose it would be akin to…" Fenris paused as he thought of a suitable comparison. "Have you ever been sunburnt?"

"Several times, yes," answered Hawke. "Is that how it feels?"

"It is similar, yes."

"You mean you feel that way all the time, all over your body?"

Fenris shrugged again. "As I said, I have learned to live with it."

Hawke blinked a few times and felt his stomach sink.

"I will return shortly," Fenris said, heading for the stairs.

"Fenris, will you go back to the coast with me this morning?" asked Hawke.

Fenris stopped and turned around slowly. "I was not certain you would want me to, after last night…"

"We've already been through this; you didn't place anyone in danger. We're all fine."

"But…should it happen again…"

"Then we'll deal with it. You're very important…you're a very important part of our little gang, now, and I want you to come with me."

Fenris considered Hawke's words for a moment, before nodding. "As you wish, Hawke."

"But only if _you _want to," added Hawke.

"I do." Fenris turned and started up the stairs, and Hawke watched him as he entered his room and closed the door; he then made his way to the scullery.

After bathing, Fenris strapped himself into his armour and left his room, finding no sign of Hawke downstairs, although the blankets had been folded, and the fire rekindled. Just as he began to take the blankets and pillow away, Hawke entered, carrying a large tray.

"Oh, bugger," Hawke muttered, glancing around the room. "It _would_ have been a good idea to find a little table _before _I made breakfast."

"The dining room is just through there," said Fenris, striding across the room to open a set of double doors which led into another, pitch-black room. Hawke waited outside while Fenris opened the drapes, before entering and setting the tray down on the large, polished dark wood table. By now, the sun had started to rise, and a pale, hazy light seeped into the room, illuminating countless particles of dust that drifted lazily around, eddying around Fenris as he took a seat.

"I'm afraid it's porridge again," Hawke said apologetically, passing a bowl over to Fenris. The elf nodded and watched quietly as Hawke began to pour them both a cup of tea, wondering why Hawke was being so gracious after the way he'd acted the night before, both in Lowtown and at the mansion, and braced himself for the catch that was sure to come.

"It's made with milk, this time," Hawke told him, taking his own seat. "There's honey in it, too. Oh, and a bit of nutmeg, although Maker knows how long that's been there for; it probably tastes like dust, now." Hawke immediately began to shovel porridge into his mouth, slurping at his tea between mouthfuls, while Fenris slowly sipped at his tea, allowing his porridge to cool.

Hawke burped and slapped his hand over his mouth, laughing. "It seems that Mother was right; my table manners _do_ leave a lot to be desired!"

"I have seen worse," Fenris commented.

"Where, at the Imperial menagerie?"

A flash of teeth accompanied Fenris's sudden laugh, before he quickly covered his mouth with his hand. "As I have never visited the menagerie, I am in no position to comment."

"You should have been at the farmhold when Carver, Father and I came in for our supper after a day in the fields. Mother always joked that one day she would bring one of the pigs in to teach us some manners." A wistful look came over him then, and he gazed out of one of the windows. "Look at that sunrise, Fenris."

Fenris turned in his chair and looked behind him. "Yes, I often watch it from my room."

Hawke regarded Fenris for a while as he looked out of the window, averting his eyes as the elf turned back and began to eat his porridge. "Fenris, what do you do with yourself all day, when you're not out with us, that is?"

Fenris waited until he'd swallowed his mouthful before answering. "I eat, I train, and I wait."

"You mean you wait for…"

"Yes."

Hawke's heart rate quickened slightly as he decided to test a supposition. "You have a fine library here; I saw it on the way back from the kitchen. Do you read much?"

He immediately noticed the fine lines around Fenris's mouth tighten, and prepared himself for a reaction. Instead, Fenris nodded and took another spoonful of porridge.

"What's your favourite book?" Hawke asked.

Once again, Fenris swallowed his porridge before replying. "There is no particular one."

Hawke nodded silently and noticed from the corner of his eye that Fenris's posture had stiffened. After several minutes of silence, Fenris sighed and set his spoon down.

"I cannot read, Hawke, as you well know. I saw the look on your face when you passed me that bill of sale for the young mage. You knew I could not read it. I do not see the need for this…pretence."

"I'm sorry," sighed Hawke. "You're right; I did guess…"

"Then why all the questions about my favourite book? Why not just ask me directly?" Fenris's voice had acquired a brittle edge, and Hawke rubbed his eyes, angry with himself for disrupting the fragile accord they'd seemed to have established.

"I'm sorry, Fenris," Hawke said again. "It's just that…well, I never know how you're going to react. I didn't want to be deceptive, but I didn't want to offend you, either. I wasn't sure how to broach the subject."

Fenris fell quiet, his eyes fixed on the table.

"I shouldn't have asked, anyway," said Hawke. "It's really none of my business." He stood and gathered his bowl and cup. "Have you finished with yours?" he asked.

Fenris nodded and pushed his empty vessels across the table. Picking them up, Hawke turned to leave.

"You were right, Hawke; it _is_ better with milk."

"What is?" Hawke asked, turning back to face him.

"The porridge. I enjoyed it; thank you."

Hawke chewed his bottom lip, his eyes crinkling. "There's some more left; you want another bowl?"

"I don't think I could manage another, but thank you."

"Well, would you think me a pig if _I _had another bowl?"

"Probably."

Hawke laughed, relieved that Fenris no longer seemed angry. "Well, as you said, Fenris, no more pretence. You may as well know the truth: I _am _a pig, and I fully intend to polish off the rest of that porridge."

"I appreciate your candour," Fenris said drily as Hawke made for the kitchen, still laughing.

When he returned with an overflowing bowl of porridge, a fresh pot of tea and two clean cups, Fenris was still in the dining room, but stood next to the window.

"How's that sunrise?" asked Hawke, setting the tray down.

"See for yourself."

Hawke walked over, ensuring he didn't stand too close to Fenris, and they both watched for a few minutes as the fiery red globe rose over Sundermount in the distance.

"Hawke," Fenris said after a while, still looking out of the window, his eyes fixed on a point in the distance. "I was…discourteous to you last night."

"It doesn't matter," said Hawke quietly.

"No, it does. I have…" He sighed and shook his head. "I have become…accustomed to fending for myself. I am not used to relying on others. I do not _like_ relying on others." His eyelids closed as his gaze dropped lower. "I have been quite rude to you several times since we met, and yet you have taken it with good grace and humour. My behaviour has been inexcusable. I-I do not…"

"I wouldn't say I've always taken it with grace and good humour, Fenris; I was pretty rude to you a few times myself, especially on the first night we met."

Fenris shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps at first, yes." He moved away from the window and placed his hands on the back of a dining chair, his eyes on the table. "I do not find it easy to trust others. Every person I have come across both before and after my escape has always had an agenda of some kind. Some have come in the guise of a friend, but have quickly proved to be anything but."

"Do you trust me?" asked Hawke, still standing next to the window.

"No," answered Fenris immediately, "but that is more a fault of mine, than yours. You have given me several reasons to trust you, and yet I cannot."

"When one has been abused and belittled for so long, trust must be a rare commodity, indeed," Hawke opined, and he glanced out of the window as he felt Fenris's green eyes bore into him. For a second, he considered asking Fenris why he hated physical contact, why he shrank from his touch, and why he had frozen and lost control of himself during the fight in Lowtown, but there was no need. He knew, and, as Fenris's gaze once again returned to the table, Hawke realised that Fenris knew that, also.

Hawke cleared his throat and straightened his posture. "Well, with your permission, Fenris, I'd like to keep giving you reasons to trust me. Maybe you'll never trust me, but perhaps that isn't even important; it's the journey, and the effort we put into that journey that _are_ important. I know what it's like to be alone, Fenris, and it's not a place I'd like to revisit." He turned away from the window and took a few steps toward Fenris. "Do you think we could start again?"

Fenris's gauntleted hands gripped the back of the chair tightly as he turned to face Hawke. "Start again?"

"Yes, you know, start from scratch. Forget everything that's been said. Wipe the slate clean."

"You are a mage," Fenris said quietly. "That is something I cannot forget or wipe away, as you would wipe a slate."

"I'm not asking you to; that's what I am. Either you accept me, or you don't, but I think we should give it a try, don't you? You never know; I may surprise you, yet. Perhaps I'll become the first mage you've ever trusted? Stranger things have happened, I'm sure."

"You are persistent," Fenris said as a smile ghosted across his lips.

"'Vexatious' is probably used more often to describe me, but I appreciate your tact," quipped Hawke.

Fenris's lips quirked into a half smile, and he nodded. "Very well. This 'journey' you speak of should prove to be interesting, if nothing else."

"For both of us." Hawke extended his hand toward Fenris, and the elf glanced at it, pondering its significance. Why was the touching of hands necessary to cement a deal? Was that really what Hawke had in mind, or would he do as Danarius had so often done, and take his hand and place it on his-

"Fenris, my arm's starting to ache."

"Put it down, then."

Hawke shook his head.

Fenris gulped and, uncertain of what to do, he bunched his hand into a fist. Perhaps a show of trust on his part was warranted? He opened his hand and raised it, although every fibre of his being screamed at him not to. His stomach twisted and he held his breath as Hawke's hand moved closer. What would he do if Hawke tried anything, tried to…touch him? What else _could_ he do? His other hand, which hung at his side, formed into a claw, ready and waiting.

Hawke smiled easily as the cold steel of Fenris's gauntlet pressed against his palm. He shook Fenris's hand once, and then released it. "There; that wasn't so bad, was it?" asked Hawke.

Fenris felt his body go limp, and he shook his head.

"Thank you, Fenris," Hawke said.

"For what?"

"For trusting me."

Those words rang hollow in Fenris's ears, as he hadn't trusted Hawke at all, and had in fact expected the worst. Hawke was clearly someone who found it easy to trust others. Perhaps it was about time Fenris reciprocated some of that trust, but he had no idea of where to start. Could he _ever _trust a mage? Was Hawke just like all the others, with a sinister agenda concealed by smiles and kind words and deeds? Or would Hawke truly prove him wrong?

"Well, shall we have one more cup of tea, and then get going?" suggested Hawke through a mouthful of porridge, already pouring the tea.

"Yes, I would like that."

Time would tell.

~o~O~o~

Fenris and Hawke took their time on their walk to Lowtown, knowing that The Hanged Man's doors would not be opened for a little while yet. They paused at the top of the huge flight of steps, and Hawke took a deep breath, a smug grin plastered across his face.

"I _love _going down these steps," he chirped.

"But not going_ up_ them so much?" guessed Fenris with a quirk of an eyebrow.

"Well, no. Going _up_ them always carries a slight risk of death, particularly if I'm _running_," he added with a sly glance at Fenris, whose expression remained neutral.

"Perhaps you should resolve to travel up them at least once a day," suggested the elf. "That way, you may become accustomed to them."

"Yes, I _could _do that, theoretically…"

"But, as you stated, you are a shiftless...you are shiftless."

"You have a long memory, Elf."

"Indeed I do, Mage."

"Race you to the bottom," challenged Hawke.

"I would not advise that, attired as you are," counselled Fenris with a glance at Hawke's long robe, "but do as you wish. I, myself, would prefer to remain upright."

"Suit yourself," sniffed Hawke. "But I win by default."

Fenris smiled softly and shook his head. "If it pleases you."

"It does."

To Hawke's delight, this banter continued much of the way down the steps and through Lowtown. They passed several merchants and traders on the way, all preparing their stalls. As The Hanged Man came into view, both men stopped in their tracks, immediately tensing.

Anders was waiting outside.

Hawke placed a hand over his mouth, feeling his light mood become leaden as a headache nibbled at the apex of his head.

"Should I leave the two of you alone to talk?" asked Fenris, his trademark scowl darkening his features.

"No, Fenris; you're with me." Hawke began to walk forward, and Fenris followed.

Upon spotting them, Anders plastered a broad grin across his face, which quickly disappeared upon seeing the bruising on both men's faces.

"Blimey, what happened to you two?" he exclaimed.

"We had the shit beaten out of us last night, that's what," Hawke said shortly. "Thanks for sticking around, Anders; it's not like we _needed_ you or anything," he added with biting sarcasm.

"Yes, about that…I, um, I may have overreacted a bit last night. Sorry."

"We _all _overreact sometimes, Anders; I'm no exception, but what I _don't_ do is run out on everyone else when we have an injured person and a band of thugs to deal with! I _wanted_ one of us to stay behind with Aveline; remember her?"

Anders hung his head and sighed. "How is she?"

"I have no idea, Anders; like I said, I was too busy almost getting killed to notice."

At that moment, the doors to The Hanged Man were opened, and Corff, the proprietor, greeted them all as he placed a piece of slate, advertising the day's menu, against the wall.

"I will check on the guard," said Fenris, stepping inside, shooting Anders a look of disgust as he passed.

Anders's amber eyes followed the elf as he entered the pub, and then moved to Hawke, uncertainty in them as his friend folded his arms and turned away.

"So…did you and Fenris meet up on the way here?" asked Anders.

Hawke's head turned in Anders's direction, but his arms remained folded. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Nothing, I was just wondering."

"If you must know, I spent the night at the mansion." Hawke watched Anders carefully for a reaction, and could tell that the strawberry-blond mage was working hard to contain himself. Eventually, Anders nodded, and once again changed the subject.

"Look, Hawke; I know things became…unpleasant between us. I've been thinking, and perhaps you were right about those mages. They did attack us, after all."

Hawke turned a little, and, although his expression was unchanged, his mind raced; where was Anders's passion now? Where was his unwavering commitment to his cause?

"I didn't expect you to agree with me on that, Anders. You know me; I like a good argument, and I respect people who stand up to me. What I didn't expect was for you to piss off in a huff."

"I know," Anders said with genuine contrition. "That was wrong of me."

"I still want us to be friends, Anders, but do that again and we're finished. I need people I can depend on. I need to know that you're not going to throw a strop when we disagree on something, because there _will _be times when we disagree. Look at Fenris; he's against pretty much everything we stand for, and yet he's still here."

At the mention of Fenris, Anders's expression hardened briefly, before it was blinked away, replaced with a bland smile. "You're right, Hawke. I won't let you down again, I promise."

Hawke exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck. "All right. I don't know what you have planned today, but Fenris and I are going back to the coast with Donnic."

"Oh," said Anders. "Well, I'm going to have my hands full at the clinic today. I just wanted to see you and make things right. I'm sorry, Hawke. Friends?"

Hawke nodded, and Anders wrapped his arms around Hawke, slapping his back several times. "Come on; I'll buy you a drink," Anders offered as he released him.

"That's a good start," said Hawke with a weak smile. As he entered the pub, Anders grabbed his arm.

"Hawke…are you sure you know what you're doing? With Fenris, I mean."

"I _slept_ on the settee, Anders," Hawke replied, a little annoyed. "Not that it's any…look, let's just have a pleasant drink, all right?"

"Yes, of course, Hawke. Wait…where's your staff?"

"It had an argument with a thug's head."

Anders's face lit up with a gleeful smile. "Now this I've _got_ to hear about!"

Upon entering, they spotted Fenris sat in the very far corner of the lounge, from where he could see everything, and he watched the two mages as they approached; Anders now appeared in a jovial mood, but he noted with some satisfaction that Hawke was rather more reserved.

"The guard will be with us shortly," announced Fenris as they took their seats.

"Breakfast, lads?" called Corff from behind the counter.

"The works for me, please," replied Anders.

"Me too," Hawke said more quietly, and, spotting the look of disbelief on Fenris's face, winked and grinned at him. A strange look came into Fenris's eyes, then and he smiled awkwardly, shifting in his seat. "No, just tea for us, if you have any ready," Hawke said in a louder voice.

"Aye; I've just got the pot on. Give us five minutes," answered Corff, disappearing into a room in the back.

"So, come on, Hawke; tell me all about last night," prompted Anders, resting his head on his hand to block Fenris from his sight.

As Hawke recounted his tale, Donnic entered the lounge and bade them good morning as he walked over to the bar to settle his bill and order breakfast.

"So _that's _what happened to your staff!" exclaimed Anders.

"Yes, so I don't have a weapon, now, and neither does Fenris. He left his sword behind in that alley."

"You lost your sword?" asked Donnic, walking over and taking a seat next to Anders. "It might be in the lock-up at the barracks, or, if I know some of the guards, it's probably been swiped or sold by now. Was it valuable?" he asked Fenris.

"No. It was just a sword," he answered.

"Looks like we'll have to dig into our funds a bit," sighed Hawke.

"No, wait…" Anders stood up. "I'll see if Lirene has anything new in. She said I could take my pick of her stock."

"Oh, thanks, Anders," said Hawke. "Don't forget a sword for Fenris, if she has any."

With a nod, Anders turned to leave. "Don't get pinching any of my bacon while I'm gone."

"I won't," answered Hawke.

"Things are well between you, now?" asked Fenris as the door closed behind Anders.

"Mm," mumbled Hawke distractedly, still looking at the door.

"Things are _not_ well, then?" asked Fenris, and the three men moved aside a little as two cooked breakfasts were placed on the table by Norah, who promised to return with their tea.

"No, they are, it's just…I dunno. I expected more of an argument from him. Instead, he's falling over himself to be nice. Maybe I have a suspicious mind," Hawke mused, reaching for one of Anders's sausages.

A rumble of laughter sounded through Donnic's chest. "Didn't I hear you promise not to touch his breakfast?"

"Bacon," Hawke corrected, his voice muffled by half a sausage. "He said nothing about sausages."

"Where do you _put_ it all?" asked Fenris incredulously.

"In my tank, here." Hawke patted his belly, and frowned heavily as it undulated at his touch. "Hmm. Maybe I should do something about that. It's a good survival tactic, though; what if we get stranded on the coast, eh? What would _you _do, Fenris, with only half a bowl of porridge in your belly?"

Fenris shook his head. "I doubt you would expire through lack of sausages."

"Then you have much to learn about me."

Once again, Fenris shook his head and snorted. "I give up."

"That seems best to me," chortled Donnic.

"Shit!" Hawke spluttered, cramming the rest of the sausage into his mouth as Anders sailed through the door.

"You should not have done that," counselled Fenris with a soft chuckle. "You should have concealed it."

"Rit's roo bruddy rate row, ibbn't it?" He slammed his mouth closed and watched, wide-eyed as Anders approached the table.

"We're in luck!" announced Anders, presenting a basic, but sound wooden staff to Hawke, who took it and nodded. "And a sword for you, Fenris. It's a bit notched, but it'll do the job until you can get a better one."

"Thank you," Fenris said politely, examining the sword carefully.

"What do you think, Hawke?" asked Anders as he took a seat next to him. Hawke smiled and gave him a thumbs-up, his smile waning slightly as Anders's eyes narrowed. "What have you got in your mouth, Hawke?"

"Mm?" He pointed ahead as Norah arrived with their tea and set the mugs down on the table.

Anders's eyes darted from his plate to Donnic's, comparing the two, as Hawke hastily chewed on his sausage.

"I said, what have you got in your mouth?"

Hawke cupped his hand over his ear and swallowed, clutching at his chest and grimacing as the inadequately-chewed food stuttered its way down. "Nothing," he declared, opening his mouth for all to see. "That Corff's getting a bit stingy with his sausages, you know. You want to complain."

"You thieving bastard," accused Anders, moving his plate further away from Hawke. "Guard," he said to Donnic. "I want this man arrested."

"Sorry," chuckled Donnic. "I'm off duty."

"I should have known better," grumbled Anders. "He's like a dog around food; he can never be trusted on his own with it."

Having finished his breakfast, Donnic sighed and pushed his plate away. "I need a walk, now. When you're ready, we'll set off."

"Are you ready, Fenris?" Hawke asked the elf, who nodded as he drained his mug. "I'll stop by and see you later," he promised Anders as he stood up. "Thanks for the staff."

"No problem," answered Anders, holding his hand out to Hawke, and smiling as he shook it. "Now, go and walk some of that flab off."

"As I've already _explained_, this is fuel," Hawke insisted in defence of his paunch. "I'll be the one laughing when you two are shivering and crawling on your hands and knees when we reach the coast."

Donnic laughed at this. "I've had a much bigger breakfast than you," he declared.

"No you haven't," Fenris muttered drily as they departed.

"See you later! Have fun!" Anders called over, and Hawke nodded, rolling his eyes.

Anders watched them leave, and cleared his throat as the door closed. "You were right," he said quietly. "I should keep them all on side, especially Hawke." He stared at his plate for a moment, and then nodded. "I can't pretend to be friends with the elf, but, all right, if you insist. I'll be civil to him, for Hawke's sake."

He took a sip of his tea, and his eyes moved to the entrance as a few traders walked in. "Yes, all right; even the blood mage."

Finishing his breakfast, he pushed away from the table and walked over to the bar, settling up with Corff. He then left The Hanged Man, whistling to himself as he made his way to the clinic.


	17. Chapter 17

After a slow start to their trip to the Wounded Coast, during which a bloated Hawke had to stop a few times because he'd got a stitch in his side, he, Fenris and Donnic finally began to make good progress.

The affable Donnic proved to be good company, and he and Fenris had an involved conversation about swords and fighting styles; their styles differed from one another and, as they took a short rest halfway to their destination, Donnic challenged Fenris to a quick spar, during which the elf soundly trounced him.

"Have you considered applying to the city Guard?" an impressed Donnic asked him.

"Do they even take elves?" asked Fenris.

"What's that got to do with anything?" replied Donnic. "I'll admit, we don't get many elves applying, but I think that's down to the fact that the elves in Kirkwall tend to keep to themselves. I can't say I blame them, though, when they're all shoved into that alienage. No, guards are hired on their merits; you shouldn't let skills like that go to waste, you know."

"I don't," answered Fenris. "I train daily, and now that I'm working with Hawke, I often get a chance to apply my skills."

"Yes," interjected Hawke with a wink at Fenris, "and I couldn't do without him, so keep your grubby mitts to yourself."

Donnic laughed and held his hands up, and Fenris nodded once at Hawke. "All right, I get the message," said Donnic. "You know, it's a shame we don't take mages in the Guard. I reckon with a few healers and specialists, we'd be unstoppable."

"So why don't you?" asked Hawke.

Donnic shrugged. "It's not up to me, of course, but I think if we _were_ to take mages, things would get complicated with the Templars. We have a good relationship with them, and that would definitely change if we started recruiting apostates. Aveline has a few thoughts on this: she'd love to see mages in our ranks, and had the idea that willing mages could be recruited from The Gallows, but I'm certain the Templars would still want to keep an eye on them if that was the case. It's just too complicated."

"How about, erm…employing some on the side?" suggested Hawke. "Anders and I know of a few…" He paused and glanced at Fenris, who was giving him a curious look. "Perhaps not," finished Hawke with a grin.

"Like I said, it's not up to me," said Donnic. "Jeven would never…although, I don't suppose Jeven will be guard-captain for much longer, will he?" he mused with a wicked smile. "I can't wait to see him get what's coming to him. Come on; let's get a move on."

With renewed vigour in their steps, the three men soon arrived at the cave where Bethany and Varric had stayed with Aveline.

"Let me go in first," Hawke recommended, "as Bethany has probably put wards down."

Entering the cave, Hawke summoned a few small wisps to light their path, and they made their way further in, occasionally passing the body of one of the blood mages they'd engaged the day before.

"Are these the mages you were telling me about?" asked Donnic.

"The _blood _mages," corrected Fenris with a sneer. "We killed some of them; the others are with the Templars, where they belong."

Hearing the coldness in Fenris's voice, Hawke supressed a sigh. Now that the two of them seemed to have reached an understanding, he'd been preoccupied over whether he should tell Fenris the truth or not. Fenris appreciated honesty, and it would save a lot of trouble in the long run if Hawke came clean with him now, but would telling Fenris the truth about himself destroy their fledgling friendship? Would Fenris be able to look past the fact that Hawke was a blood mage? Given that Danarius - who had subjected Fenris to things Hawke was only just starting to understand – was also a blood mage, he was forced to conclude that the answer was a resounding no.

And he wasn't prepared to let all of his effort in befriending Fenris go to waste. If he was honest with himself, Fenris's friendship and approval were probably more important to him right now even than Anders's. Every time Fenris had opened up to him, every smile of his, every laugh, had been a tiny victory, and had made him feel good. He wanted to see more of Fenris's smile, wanted to make him laugh more often. He wanted to be the person that Fenris trusted and confided in.

And yet, Fenris was opposed to everything Hawke, and Anders, stood for. Becoming friends with Fenris could make things difficult with Anders, Hawke knew, but somehow, he felt it was worth it. Although on the surface he and Fenris had nothing in common, Hawke was forced to admit that he enjoyed, and looked forward to, Fenris's company even more than Anders's, and yet Hawke and Anders had so much more in common. Why, then, was the elf's approval and respect so important to him?

"Hawke?" asked Fenris.

"Hm?"

"You were…looking at me. Is something wrong?"

"Oh, no; sorry, Fenris, I was miles away. I didn't mean to stare at you."

"Were you somewhere pleasant?"

Hawke laughed softly and he felt his cheeks flush. "Erm, yes, you could say that. I'm sorry, were you saying something to me?"

"Yes; I would be interested in hearing _your _opinion on blood magic."

Hawke swallowed hard and he felt his cheeks burn, although a shiver ran through his body. "I don't really have an opinion," he said readily, his gut tightening.

"But you must," insisted Fenris. "Do you not feel that mages of this kind give other mages, such as yourself, a bad name?"

"The mages we encountered here, certainly," Hawke answered evasively. "They had obviously turned to blood magic to aid their escape from the Templars, and intended to use it for no other reason than destruction."

Fenris halted and fixed Hawke with a hard look. "Are you saying that there are _noble_ reasons for the use of blood magic, then?"

"I'm not saying that at all," replied Hawke, feeling himself break out in a sweat. "I'm just saying that not all blood mages are insane, like this lot clearly were."

"You have _known_ many blood mages, then?" asked Fenris, a hostile note creeping into his voice.

"The odd one," Hawke said distractedly, longing to steer the conversation elsewhere. "Many of them are perfectly decent people, who lead very ordinary lives."

"Decent?" Fenris retorted. "Just how is someone who makes a conscious decision to treat with a demon, _decent_?"

"Not_ all_ of them have a choice, Fenris," Hawke snapped, immediately regretting his words; he had no desire to get into a conversation about blood magic, or his own experience, with Fenris.

"You mean some of them are _forced _to make a deal? How is this so? From what I have seen, all blood mages crave power, and _that _is why they turn to it in the first place."

"Some mages are like that, yes, but you can't tar us all with the same brush based on your own experiences," Hawke began, unable to keep the irritation from his voice.

"Can I not?" Fenris bit back.

"Erm, fellas, shall we just get on and find Aveline?" suggested Donnic, feeling a little uncomfortable.

Hawke ignored him and turned to face Fenris. "Demons, by their very nature, are conniving and devious. They prey on mages when they are at their most vulnerable; when they are young, or ill, or grieving. They offer a solution, a perfect solution, to the mage's problem, and want little in return, or so it seems at the time."

"Then you have been visited by one of these demons?" demanded Fenris. "You certainly sound as though you speak from experience."

"Haven't I already been over this?" Hawke asked in exasperation. "I've already said this in front of you. _Every _mage is visited by demons once in a while. Some accept their offer, while many others do not. And some accept the demon's offer without _realising _it. There are a lot more blood mages around than you realise, Fenris; it's just that most of them never use their powers." Hawke took a deep breath and reined his anger in; anger had a tendency to loosen his tongue.

"So some mages are tricked, then? That is what you claim?"

"I'm not claiming anything, Fenris; I'm _telling _you."

"Then that is even _more_ of a reason for mages to be confined!" opined Fenris. "If they are too weak to resist a demon's influence, they should not be allowed to roam free!"

"Are you saying _I_ should be locked up?" countered Hawke angrily.

"No. I am not saying that…" Fenris sighed, realising he'd pushed too hard.

"Why, Fenris? What makes _me_ so special?" Fenris shook his head and did not answer. "Come on, Fenris! You've come this far, don't back down now!"

"Perhaps this is a discussion for another time," Fenris said with a glance at Donnic.

"I _think_ what you mean, Fenris, is that you can't think of an answer," Hawke bit out.

"I agree with Fenris," said Donnic. "We came here for Aveline. You two can debate this all you like another time."

"No, I want to know why _I _shouldn't be locked up, and why some other mages _should_," Hawke demanded of Fenris, waving an accusing finger at the elf. "What about Anders? Bethany? Should _they_ be imprisoned as well?"

"It would be prudent to keep Anders under scrutiny, yes," replied Fenris. "As for your sister, I do not think…"

"Why? Because you don't like him?"

"No. Because he is an abomination."

"That's my friend you're talking about!" spluttered Hawke. "He's host to a spirit; that's not the same as an abomination!"

"That is _exactly_ what an abomination_ is_!"

"Well, why don't you tell that to Justice the next time you see him? From what I've seen so far, you seem to get on quite well with him! You don't know _what _you're angry about, do you? You're just spouting ignorance!"

"I do not _get on _with the spirit," Fenris insisted. "I tolerate its presence; it would be unwise to incur its wrath."

"And yet you're quite happy to incur mine and Anders's? Why _is_ that, Fenris? Is it because you know, that as apostates, we have no rights and no recourse? Is that it? Isn't that a little cowardly?"

"I've had enough of this," huffed Donnic. "I'm going on ahead."

"Wait," said Hawke, his eyes still fixed on Fenris. "I need to look out for wards. "This conversation's over, anyway." With one final glare at Fenris, he shook his head and turned away,

"You have not met every mage in Thedas, Hawke, and therefore cannot speak for them all," Fenris called after him.

"And neither have you, Fenris!"

Donnic groaned and positioned himself in between the two bickering men as they walked on silently in single file.

As they neared the main chamber of the cave, Hawke stopped and dispelled a ward that he recognised as one of Bethany's, and loudly announced their presence as they entered.

Bethany, Varric and Aveline were sat around a small fire, drinking tea.

"Thought it was you, Brother," called Bethany.

"Is everyone all right?" asked Hawke as they walked over. "How's that hip, Aveline?"

"A lot better, thanks to you," she replied, and, pushing herself to her feet, she walked back and forth to demonstrate. "It's a little stiff, but it'll get me back to Kirkwall…Donnic?" Her mouth fell open as her fellow guard entered the small sphere of light cast by the fire. "What-what are you doing here?"

"I insisted on coming when I'd heard what had happened," he told her. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Yes…I, erm…well, how are _you_, Donnic? Did those thugs get to you?"

"I'm fine, Aveline. I got a knock on the head, but Hawke here and a few of his friends were ready for them. Didn't give us much trouble, did they?" he asked Hawke.

"Not much, no," answered Hawke drily, rubbing his bruised cheek.

As Aveline and Donnic discussed the actions they would take upon returning to the barracks, Hawke sat down next to the fire, and Bethany made him some tea.

"Just the two of you, Hawke?" asked Varric.

"No…" Hawke glanced around. "Fenris is here, somewhere."

Not wanting to be rude, Fenris stepped forward into the firelight and nodded to Varric and Bethany.

"Ooh, Elf; that's a beauty of a shiner you have, there!" said Varric, wincing.

"…Shiner?" asked Fenris, tilting his head in confusion.

"A black eye," Hawke clarified flatly without looking at him.

"Come and sit down, Fenris, and have some tea," Bethany invited.

"I will remain standing, thank you, but I would gladly partake of some tea," the elf replied, and Bethany glanced at her brother, hearing him huff.

"Listen, you two," whispered Varric. "You need to settle an argument." He pointed over to where Donnic and Aveline stood, talking. "Sunshine thinks Aveline's sweet on him…"

"She talked about him _non-stop_ last night," Bethany interjected.

"…While I think we need more evidence," Varric continued. "What do you two think?"

Hawke watched them discreetly for a while. "It's hard to tell from here; the light's not very good. Although she did stammer a bit when she saw him, but that could have been because she was surprised."

Fenris, who had a clearer view of the couple, offered his opinion. "She appears to be smiling more than is her wont, and her hands are restless."

"See? I told you!" Bethany whispered to Varric, who shooed her away with his hand.

"That proves nothing! She's relieved that he's safe, that's all."

Bethany sighed. "It looks like we're no closer to solving the argument, then."

Fenris shook his head as Bethany passed him some tea. "I concur with you, Bethany. When she speaks with him, there is a light in her eyes that was not previously apparent."

Bethany stuck her tongue out at Varric, who scowled in return. "Come on, Hawke; help a dwarf out, here. Tell me you agree with me."

Hawke craned his neck a little for a better look, noticing this time that Aveline's body language was awkward and that she wore a strange expression, which he had also never seen before. "Well, Varric, either she's desperately trying not to fart, or she fancies the pants off him. Is that helpful?"

Varric folded his arms and pursed his lips. "_Real_ helpful, Hawke." Turning his attention away from Hawke, he stood up and stretched. "Well, I'm about ready to get outta here. You guys want to stay and finish your tea?"

Bethany shook her head and Varric held out his arm, helping her to her feet. Hawke also stood, and called over to Aveline and Donnic. "We're thinking of making tracks. Are you two ready?"

"We certainly are, Hawke," Aveline replied, making her way over with Donnic. "We're going to take this straight to the Viscount; there's been the odd complaint about Jeven before, and I know that Seneschal Bran dislikes him. His ears will prick up when he hears about this."

"You may be called as witnesses," Donnic said to Hawke and Fenris. "Would you be willing to give evidence?"

"Of course," Hawke replied. Fenris remained quiet and looked at the ground.

"Fenris?" asked Aveline. "Your testimony is very important."

Fenris considered this for a moment, not really wanting to replay the previous night's events, but not wanting to let Aveline down, either. "I will give evidence," he eventually replied.

"Thank you," Aveline said with a smile. "Both of you. If it hadn't been for you, I dread to think what might have happened."

"Hey, let's not forget the dashing and charming dwarf that held your hand and helped you through the pain last night," added Varric.

"I don't remember_ that_ bit," Aveline said with a frown which quickly turned into a smile. "But thank you both, as well, for staying with me," she said to Varric and Bethany.

"I should think so," Varric said snootily, turning away from Aveline, a hint of a smile evident as he disappeared into the semi-darkness. "Come on, Sunshine." Bethany joined Varric and they all made their way out of the cave.

After allowing a few minutes for their eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight, Bethany whispered something to Varric and he jerked his head, indicating for the others to follow him as Bethany remained behind. As Hawke passed her, she touched his arm and they waited for a moment before slowly walking behind the others. Fenris, as usual, went to the head of the group by himself.

"Are you all right, Brother?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You don't seem yourself. Have you and Fenris fallen out again? You've hardly spoken a word to each other, and you both seem down."

"Have we fallen _out_ with each other?" he repeated miserably. "Don't you have to be _friends_ with someone first to fall out with them?" His tone was sharper than he'd intended, and he groaned. "I'm sorry, Bethany. I didn't mean to snap at you."

"But I thought you and Fenris were getting along well?"

"So did I, Sister. Every…" He paused and stared glumly at the path ahead. "Every time I think that – that we're getting on well, I mean – something bites me on the arse. We started talking about blood magic and then we started _arguing _about blood magic. I guess he views my opinion on the matter to be as extreme as I view his."

"Friends don't always agree on everything," said Bethany.

"But this is not us arguing over what the best colour is, or some similar trifling nonsense; this is arguing about what I am, what _we _are. I know you're not a blood mage, Beth, but his hatred of all mages runs deep. How can I be friends with someone who hates what I am?"

For a moment, Bethany didn't answer, and she slipped her arm through Hawke's. "He doesn't hate _you_, Fletcher; he hates his master. You just have to keep plugging away. One day, he'll see you as I do. You're a good man."

Hawke laughed mirthlessly. "I doubt that. Maybe we weren't meant to be friends."

"Now, this is not the Fletcher_ I_ know," Bethany scolded gently. "Fletcher Hawke doesn't just give up! Where's the determination, the pig-headedness? This is not like you at all."

"I just can't cope with all the ups and downs, Beth. That blasted elf is playing havoc with my stomach. When he-"

"When he what?"

Hawke clasped Bethany's arms, bringing her to a stop, and glanced anxiously at the others who walked ahead. "You can't tell _anyone _this," he demanded.

Bethany shook her head. "Of course, Brother; I won't say a word."

He released her arms and rubbed at his forehead. "Maker…my stomach is doing somersaults even now." He glanced up the path again; the others were by now well ahead of them. "Fenris and I have had several arguments, disagreements, whatever you want to call them. He sometimes gets this look in his eyes, like he despises me. When he looks at me like that, Beth, it crushes me. On the other hand, I've made him laugh a total of two times, now. Two. And, each time he's laughed, Beth, it's instantly made everything better. _Everything_. Maker, Beth, I would do anything to make him laugh."

A soft smile befell Bethany's face and she took Hawke's hands into her own. "It looks like Aveline and Donnic are not the only ones who are sweet on each other, Fletcher."

Hawke shook his head briskly. "No chance. He hates me. Every time he looks at me he must see his master."

"Well, he must like seeing his master a lot then, Fletcher; while you were drinking your tea and avoiding eye contact with him, he didn't take his eyes off you once, except for when he was looking at Donnic and Aveline."

"I'm sure he didn't," grumped Hawke. "He was probably staring daggers at me."

"That's not what I saw," said Bethany. "He looked sorry to me, like he wanted to apologise."

"Well he hasn't, has he? Besides, I'm not sure he _should_ apologise. I'd probably hate mages as well, in his position."

Bethany released Hawke's hands and took his arm, and they resumed their walk. "You once told me that Fenris is a very private man. Would he really make an apology in front of all of us? You wait; I bet as soon as we get back, he'll take you off somewhere and say sorry."

"And then what, Beth? I get my hopes up again, only to have them dashed the next time?" He shook his head angrily. "I'm a bloody fool. I need to give this up now, before it turns into something more than a stupid crush."

"Do you really think you could do that?" she asked.

He looked up the path to where Fenris walked beside Donnic; they appeared to be discussing swordplay again. Just as the two warriors disappeared around a bend, Fenris glanced back, for a second his eyes meeting Hawke's. He then quickly turned back and walked around the bend.

Hawke's shoulders slumped and he released a shaky breath. "Oh, Maker…"

"Thought not," Bethany said saucily, wrapping her arm around Hawke's waist. "Now, listen to your sister carefully: I have a few ideas up my sleeve."


	18. Chapter 18

After a long and uneventful journey back to Kirkwall, the group split up, as Bethany and Varric needed to bathe, and they all arranged to meet up later at the Hanged Man.

Hawke, Fenris, Aveline and Donnic made straight for the Keep, the two guards eager to bring their account of Jeven's corruption to the Viscount, and they entered via the guardsmans' entrance, thus bypassing the huge line of Kirkwall residents seeking an audience with the city leader.

"Can I have a key for this entrance?" Hawke asked Aveline cheekily.

With a single look, she answered his question decisively, and Hawke laughed a little, his eyes briefly wandering over to Fenris to see if he, too, was laughing. He wasn't.

Making their way through the barracks, Aveline and Donnic were stopped a few times by their fellow guards but did not stop to chat. Most of the other guards guessed that Hawke and Fenris had been placed under arrest for fighting, as both of them were covered in bruises; Aveline, however, did nothing to disavow them of that assumption, not wanting the true nature of their visit known until she'd spoken with the Viscount.

Thankfully, Jevens's office door was closed, as was usual, when they passed it, although Aveline and Donnic were noticeably tense until they entered the main reception hall, relaxing a little as they walked up the stairs. Aveline was slow on the way up as her hip was still sore, but she bore the discomfort stoically, and Hawke quietly promised to treat her later, to which Aveline gave a grateful nod.

Finally reaching Seneschal Bran's office, Aveline and Donnic said a quick hello to the guards posted on either side of the door, and Aveline rapped firmly against it. After a moment, the door was opened, and a disgruntled Bran emerged.

"I _told_ you I was not to be disturbed," he said to his guards, a note of irritation in his normally-mellifluous voice. "Is this so difficult for you to grasp? I_ have _an appointment."

"Well, I've just made a new one," announced Aveline, pushing past the seneschal and barging into his office, followed by Donnic, who was doing his best not to laugh at Bran's aghast expression. "Out!" Aveline ordered the nobleman who was sat at Bran's desk, pointing to the door.

"Guardswoman Vallen," Bran said in a deceptively calm voice, folding his arms. "This is _highly _irregular. These kinds of back door shenanigans will _not _be tolerated in _this _office. Return to your post immediately. Expect a call from your captain later. I am _not _pleased."

"Actually, it's Jeven we're here to speak to you about, and it can't wait," Aveline insisted. "We can either have this conversation in front of your friend, here, or we can have it in private."

"I _strongly_ recommend we have it in private," Donnic added.

A slight quirk of Bran's eyebrow belied his indignant stance, and he exhaled through his nose, unfolding his arms. "Lord Trinder; it appears a situation has arisen that demands my urgent attention. Would you excuse us?"

"But I have an appointment!" the outraged noble protested, springing up from his chair. "I've been waiting for weeks!"

"This will not take long," Bran assured him, holding the door open.

With a frustrated grunt, Lord Trinder stomped out of the office as Bran took a seat at his desk. "Close the door, Guardsman Hendyr," he ordered Donnic. "This had _better_ be good."

"Wait there," Donnic whispered to Hawke and Fenris.

"Good luck," said Hawke as the door was closed.

With Fenris and Hawke left on their own outside the office, Hawke filled the awkward silence by examining a painting that hung on the wall opposite the door, while Fenris absent-mindedly brushed non-existent particles of fluff off his armour, a habit of his that Hawke had noticed on several occasions.

With a quiet sigh, Hawke eventually decided to break the silence. "Bet you'd love to be a fly on the wall in there, wouldn't you?" he asked Fenris, still looking at the painting.

Fenris halted his movements and frowned. "A fly on the wall?"

Hawke turned toward him, but looked at the door. "Yes, if you were a fly on the wall, you could hear everything that was being said, and they wouldn't know you were there, would they?"

Fenris's frown deepened, and he nodded. "A curious expression, but one that is rather apposite, here."

"It is, isn't it?" Hawke turned back to face the painting, although he had no idea of what was depicted in the picture, as he'd been staring right through it.

Fenris raised his head and watched Hawke while his back was turned. Since their altercation in the cave, he'd experienced an unpleasant gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach. Although he believed his stance on blood magic was correct, he regretted some of the things he'd said to Hawke, and also regretted that they'd both let their tempers get the better of them.

It was clear that the two of them would never agree on this subject, but what had also become clear to Fenris was that Hawke was someone who looked after, and stood up for, his friends. Fenris knew that Hawke was still annoyed with Anders for running out on them after_ their_ quarrel, and yet Hawke had not hesitated to defend him when Fenris had called him an abomination.

He'd also noticed that, upon their entrance into the Keep, some of the nobles had once again quite blatantly stared at Fenris, and that again Hawke had fixed every one of them with a hateful glare. It seemed that Hawke was someone who was not afraid to speak his mind, but the fact he disagreed with one of his friends did not sway his loyalty to them.

Was that what Hawke was, now? A friend? Although Hawke had professed his friendship several times, Fenris had not allowed himself to believe or accept it so far. The man was a mage, and, although he was clearly not Danarius, surely one day he would succumb to the innate yearning for power that all mages were born with? If Hawke had been born in Tevinter he would no doubt by now be a powerful magister, perhaps even one to rival Danarius.

He heard Hawke sigh again, and, watching as the mage turned away from the painting, still facing away from him, he once again felt that uncomfortable, gnawing sensation deep in his stomach.

At that moment, the door to Seneschal Bran's office was opened, and the seneschal, Aveline and Donnic exited, walking across to a set of double doors, through which they disappeared. Aveline very quickly turned to Hawke and smiled as she closed the doors behind her.

"I wonder where they're going?" Hawke wondered aloud.

One of Seneschal Bran's guards beckoned him over. "The Viscount's office is through there. Aveline and Donnic must have something big to get in there without an appointment. You came in with them; what's going on?"

"Erm…I don't really think it's for me to say," Hawke mumbled.

"Aw, go on," the guard urged.

"I'm certain that an announcement will be made soon," replied Hawke with an apologetic shrug. "Aveline should be the one to tell you all."

"Bloody spoilsport," grumbled the guard, assuming his original position, and he and his neighbour immediately began speculating as to what this 'announcement' would be.

Hawke walked away from the guards and stopped a short distance from the double doors. Fenris slowly followed him but kept his distance, still watching him.

"Fenris…don't you think we should clear the air?" suggested Hawke, taking the elf by surprise. "I don't like there being a bad atmosphere."

Fenris coughed quietly, stepped a little closer and opened his mouth, but could not think of anything useful to say.

"It was inevitable that we would argue about blood magic; well, magic of any kind, really," began Hawke. "We both have very strong views on the subject, and both of us feel our opinion is valid. I said valid, Fenris, not right or wrong. I know I took issue with what you said, but I want you to know that I respect your opinion, even if I happen to disagree with it."

"Oh. I…did not expect you to say that," said Fenris quietly.

Hawke finally looked at Fenris. "I do disagree with you, Fenris, but I also understand why you feel the way you do. You have to understand that I've experienced prejudice against mages my entire life, but most of that prejudice has stemmed from ignorance or fear. You _do _have a good reason to distrust mages. I didn't mean what I said about you being ignorant; it was just my temper talking."

Fenris hung his head and nodded slowly. "I also regret some of the things I said."

"Is that an apology?" Hawke asked, his voice softer.

"No." Fenris looked into Hawke's eyes, and Hawke was certain he saw a hint of amusement there.

"Well, in that case, I'm not apologising, either," answered Hawke, unable to pull his gaze away from Fenris's huge, fern-green eyes, feeling his heart rate quicken.

Fenris's heavy lids blinked once, and his eyes moved to the side of Hawke. "You already did."

Hawke began to laugh then, and noticed an almost imperceptible softening of Fenris's features. "You're even more stubborn than I am; admit it, Fenris."

"I will do no such thing."

Hawke's laughter deepened, and he felt his eyes moisten. Taking a deep breath and exhaling, he let his head fall back, feeling the tension of the past few hours melt away.

"Perhaps…we should not discuss that particular topic again," Fenris ventured.

"No, don't you see, Fenris? We _should _discuss it, as much as possible; there's nothing wrong with having differences, but when we don't talk about them, those differences fester and become blown out of all proportion. I don't want that for…I don't want that to happen, with anyone."

"You wish for us to argue again?"

"No, I want us to have a discussion. I…I did let my temper get the better of me before, and I am sorry for that. Although…you _did _provoke me a bit."

Fenris shook his head and scowled. "And you _didn't_?"

"Are we having _another_ argument?" asked Hawke with a smile. "An argument about _having_ an argument?"

Fenris's shoulders shook gently as a hesitant laugh rolled through him, and Hawke pressed his lips together to suppress an idiotic grin. "We are fools," Fenris declared.

"_We_?" Hawke teased. "Watch who you're calling a fool, Elf."

Fenris's right eyebrow shot up. "So now we are arguing over who is the bigger fool…from where I am standing, the answer is incontrovertible."

"It certainly is, _Fenris_."

Once again, Fenris laughed, but this was the kind of laugh that would have him spraying tea, had he been drinking it. Hawke's delighted grin faded a little as Fenris immediately covered his mouth with his hand.

"Why do you do that?" Hawke asked.

"Do…what?"

"Cover your mouth when you laugh. You shouldn't, you know."

Fenris moved his hand away from his mouth and stared at it. "I was not aware…I…do not know why."

Hawke's belly tightened and for a second he almost told Fenris that he loved to see him laugh, but stopped himself, not wanting to make Fenris uncomfortable.

The two men stepped apart, not having realised how close they were standing to each other, as the double doors opened and Donnic headed over to them.

"Just thought I'd let you both know that you won't be needed to give evidence," he told them. "Apparently, the Viscount's office has been keeping an eye on Jeven for some time, now, and the Viscount's taking mine and Aveline's word for it."

"That's wonderful!" said Hawke, clapping Donnic on the shoulder.

"You two may as well go, for now," said Donnic. "Bran's going through a load of files. This is going to go through the magistrate's court, so evidence will need to be gathered, but with the Viscount behind us, Jeven will be going away for a long time." He held out his hand to Hawke, who shook it firmly, and then offered it to Fenris, who stiffened and hesitated.

"He's injured his hand," Hawke said quickly. "Shaking it's probably not a good idea."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," said Donnic.

"I'm…going to have a look at it, now," explained Hawke.

"Well, I'll have to shake your hand another time, then," promised Donnic, and Fenris nodded once. "I'd better get back. Thanks again for all you've done. Come back a bit later, all right? Hopefully everything will have been cleared up by then."

"I will," replied Hawke. "I need to give Aveline some advice on that hip; it'll be stiff for a while, and I can recommend some exercises to her."

"Thanks for looking after her, Hawke," Donnic said with a soft smile, before he cleared his throat. "Well, I'd better go." He turned and disappeared back through the double doors.

"Well, Fenris, if I didn't know better, I'd swear that Donnic also has a bit of a soft spot for Aveline."

Getting no answer from Fenris, Hawke turned slightly to face him.

"Why did you do that?" Fenris demanded, his expression hard.

Hawke's smile instantly vanished. "Do what?"

"You told him that I had injured my hand. Why?"

Hawke's heart sank, realising he'd offended Fenris again. "Erm, I just…I could see that you were uncomfortable." He sighed. "I-I didn't mean to speak for you, Fenris. I'm sorry. I won't do it again." He walked away and started to head down the stairs, shaking his head, his stomach in knots.

Without looking back, he exited the Keep and quickly walked along the Viscount's Way, feeling a pressing need to use a latrine. Before long, he heard soft footsteps behind him.

"Hawke."

Hawke halted and turned around to face Fenris, and, upon seeing the hurt in Hawke's eyes, Fenris hung his head.

"Hawke…" He turned away slightly and for a few moments didn't speak. "I…when Danarius was entertaining guests, I was not permitted to speak without his leave. Often, he spoke for me. When _you_ spoke for me just now, my initial reaction was one of relief and gratitude, but I also felt resentment and anger. It…reminded me."

"I should have realised," Hawke said sadly, also hanging his head.

"No." Fenris turned back to face him. "You were not at fault. I see now that you were…being a friend. I am not used to others standing in my corner, and sometimes I appear ungrateful when in fact the opposite is true. I…appreciate what you did, and I apologise for my reaction. I hope…" He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I do not know why you…why you are still here."

"Why I'm still your friend, you mean?"

"Yes."

"Because I like you," Hawke said simply with a shrug.

Fenris opened his eyes and glanced up at Hawke. "I cannot imagine why," he said quietly.

"Neither can I," replied Hawke, "but, as you once told me, I am a very strange man."

Fenris glanced at the floor. "You are, indeed."

Hawke took a deep breath and continued walking, as did Fenris. "Well, I need to get home. Will you be coming to The Hanged Man later?"

"Perhaps; I will see."

Hawke nodded, his face blank as they reached the main square. "I'm going this way," he said with a nod to his left. "I might see you later, then." His face still expressionless, Hawke walked away in the direction of Lowtown, and Fenris watched him until he was out of sight, once or twice tempted to go after him, but having no idea of what to say if he did. He took a slow walk back to the mansion, the hot gnawing in the pit of his belly stronger than ever, wondering if he'd pushed Hawke too far this time.

~o~O~o~

Arriving home, Hawke laid his staff against the wall and was greeted by Bethany, who was bent over their rickety dining table, writing.

"Hello, Beth. Just you home?"

"Yes, Gamlen's gone out. Didn't ask where. Mother's out shopping. There are a couple of letters here for you, Fletcher."

He frowned, took a seat opposite her, and examined the letters, both of which bore the Chantry's seal. "What are you writing?" he asked casually.

"A list," she answered in a mischievous voice. "A list of things you need to do to win Fenris's heart."

Hawke burst out laughing. "What, should I take him some flowers? I can imagine where _they'll _end up, and it won't be in a vase, I can tell you."

"Now, now, Brother," Bethany tsked. "Faint heart ne'er won fair elf."

"You_ are_ daft, you know that?"

"Call me that again and I won't show you my list," she threatened. "I've almost finished it; read your letters."

Hawke reached for his sister's hand and kissed it, and then opened the first of his letters.

_Messere Hawke,_

_Once again the Templar Order is in your debt. Please visit The Gallows at your earliest convenience for your reward._

_Knight-Captain Cullen._

Hawke placed the letter down and stared at it. Once again, he was being offered a reward for helping to capture apostate mages, the very thing he'd sworn he would never do. Yes, those mages had attacked them, and their leader had very nearly killed Aveline, but still the idea did not sit easily with him.

Hearing a high-pitched squeak from the corner, he was rudely reminded of exactly what that money would mean as a rat darted across the room. Bethany leapt to her feet and ran over to the opposite wall. "Oh, Fletcher, get rid of it!"

Hawke chased after the rat, trying several times without success to stomp on it. "All right, you asked for it, you bastard!" Seizing his staff, he pointed it at the rat and uttered something under his breath. The rat promptly burst into flames but continued to dart around the room, its squeaks now shrill and vociferous.

"Oh, I can't stand it!" wailed Bethany, grabbing her own staff and turning the rat into a block of ice. "Oh, Fletcher, I hate living here!"

"I know, I know," he said softly as he kicked the ball of ice across the room and out of the back door. "I'll bury that later. Better still, I'll leave it for Gamlen; this _is _his house, after all." He closed the back door and walked over to Bethany, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Sister, I'm going to do everything I can to get this money together. We just need to wait a bit longer."

"I know you're doing your best," she replied, "and I'll do whatever I can to help."

"Go and finish your list," he told her with a strained smile. They both walked back to the table and sat down, and he pocketed Cullen's letter, deciding that his conscience would have to be put on hold for a while.

Opening the second letter, his eyes went to the name at the bottom and he frowned. "…Who?"

_Serah Hawke,_

_I write to once again extend my deep gratitude to you and your friends for your help. If you are willing, I dare to impose upon your good nature one more time. It has come to my attention that the Harrimans, a noble family of Starkhaven, were responsible for the murder of my family. _

_I find it difficult to believe that the Harrimans, whom I have known for my entire life, could have perpetrated this atrocity, but I cannot ignore the claim, and I intend to investigate, but cannot do so alone. _

_You will be well-compensated for your assistance, should you decide to render it. I would appreciate your answer as soon as you are able; you will find me in the chantry most of the time, or you may leave a message in my absence._

_Maker watch over you and your loved ones._

_Sebastian Vael._

"Who the hell is Sebastian Vael?" mumbled Hawke, his brow furrowing.

"Wasn't it that prince fellow, the one with the amazing blue eyes?" offered Bethany.

"No, his name was Stanley, or something…I think. Maker, I've done so many jobs for so many different people I can't remember them all."

Bethany took the letter and read it. "Yes, it's him; you met him at the chantry before, remember? His family were murdered? The Flint Company?"

"The Flint Company." Hawke snapped his fingers in realisation. "Hmm, he paid us quite well, as I remember." He folded the letter and pocketed it along with the one from Cullen.

"You don't seem so enraptured with his amazing eyes now, do you?" Bethany teased. "Probably because you know someone with amazing _green _eyes, now."

Hawke folded his arms. "Thinking too much gives you wrinkles, you know."

"Twaddle," she answered. "Now, are you ready to go through my list?"

He rolled his eyes and groaned. "All right then, Sister. What have you come up with?"

She cleared her throat and leaned forward a little. "Well, I think you should invite him here for a meal. I don't mean tea and biscuits; I mean a proper meal, with Mother and I, preferably when Gamlen's out. That way, he can get to know us, and he'll see that we're just a normal family, and we don't spend all our spare time making blood sacrifices or howling at the moon."

"You want me to invite him here for a meal with my family?" Hawke laughed. "The only way I could be more obvious would be by tearing my robe off and hurling myself at his feet."

"I don't see how," she replied. "Anders has been here for a meal, and so has Varric, and neither of _them_ think you fancy them, do they?"

"Bloody hell, I hope not." He shook his head. "What's next on the list?"

"Well, you were saying that the two of you have nothing in common, so you need to _find _something in common. You need a shared interest, or a goal you can work towards together."

"Now that_ is_ a good idea, Beth, but believe me, I've wracked my brain trying to think of something we have in common. Besides the fact we both breathe air, that's about it."

"Be positive!" she chided. "You both have eyes, a nose and a mouth, as well! No, you need something to talk about, discuss. What about books? You like a good story, don't you? Fenris seems like an intelligent man, to me. Ask him what he likes to read."

Hawke slowly got to his feet, staring at the far wall. "You know, Bethany…you could be onto something, there." A smile slowly crept onto his face and he glanced down at his sister. "You, Sister, are a little genius."

"About time you acknowledged that," she said immodestly, and then giggled. "Why don't you take him some of your favourite books? You could read them together."

Hawke glanced around the room, not really knowing why, as only he and Bethany were there. "Well, the thing is, he can't actually read."

Bethany looked surprised for a moment and then she nodded. "I suppose that would make sense, as he was a former slave."

"I could offer to teach him…what do you think?"

"Oh, what a wonderful idea! And learning to read isn't something that can be done overnight. _This _could be the goal that you work towards together!"

"Oh, I don't know, Beth." Hawke sighed and turned away from her, sitting on the edge of the table. "He might be offended if I offer, might see it as charity. He strikes me as being very proud."

"Then have him do something for you in return," she suggested, casting him a stern glance as he turned and raised an eyebrow. "Oh, trust you! No, nothing like that. I don't know…maybe he could teach you a few moves with his sword?"

Hawke's eyebrow crept even higher, and Bethany threw a screwed-up piece of paper at his face.

"Ow, that hurt," he moaned, rubbing the tip of his nose. He pushed himself off the table and grabbed his staff, slipping it through the straps on his back. "I'll be back later. I've got to go to the chantry, the Keep, and…maybe somewhere else in Hightown," he finished with a wink.

"But Brother, I haven't finished reading my list!" she protested.

"Keep it handy," advised Hawke. "This could very well go tits-up." He opened the door and stepped outside. Just before he closed it, he popped his head back through. "You're the best, Sister, you know that?"

"Of course I know," she chuckled. "Now, off you go, and best of luck."

~o~O~o~

Hawke stood at the foot of the dreaded steps leading up to Hightown, deciding where he would visit first. It was probably too early to check back with Aveline; she was most likely still with the Viscount. He would have to pass the chantry on the way to the mansion, so he could visit there first. Or should he visit Fenris first? The thing was, if he and Fenris ended up arguing again, he'd be in a foul mood for the rest of the day. The chantry first, then.

But he _wanted_ to see Fenris first.

He growled under his breath. "Let's just get these blasted steps out of the way, first," he said aloud, getting a strange glance from a passer-by. "Once a day, and then I'll become accustomed to them."

Slowly, he made his way up the steps, taking a couple of short breaks on the way up when his legs started to ache. He finally reached the top and felt his stomach growl, realising that he hadn't actually had anything to eat so far today. "So I can go all the way to mid-afternoon without feeling hungry?" he asked himself. "Interesting."

He turned and headed all the way back down the steps, and once again stood at the bottom, looking up. "Twice a day," he resolved. "And this time, no breaks. It won't hurt me to lose a bit of weight."

~o~O~o~

Two sisters ran forward as a sweat-soaked, beetroot-faced Hawke entered the chantry.

"Oh, you poor man!" one of them gasped, taking his arm. "Do you require succour?"

"Oh no, I don't require…succour, whatever that is, thank you. I'm looking for Sebastian. The prince chap."

"Oh, he's at the altar, praying. So dedicated to the Maker is he."

Hawke nodded. "Thanks very much."

Not having a clue where the altar actually was, Hawke ambled around aimlessly looking at various candles and drapes until a familiar brogue caught his attention.

"Serah Hawke! You received my letter," said a voice from above him.

Hawke glanced up to see a pair of bright blue eyes looking back at him from over a railing. "Stay there, serah; I'll come down to you."

"So _that's_ where the altar is," Hawke mumbled as the man in the custom-made armour descended the stairs. "How are the elderly or crippled supposed to get up there?" He shrugged and walked over to Sebastian, who held his hand out as he approached. Hawke shook it.

"I thank you for coming to see me again, Serah Hawke," Sebastian began.

"Please, Hawke will be fine. How should I address you? Your Highness? Sebastian? Seb?"

Sebastian chuckled good-naturedly. "I prefer Sebastian."

"Sebastian it is, then."

"Might I ask if you would be willing to render assistance to me once again?" he asked. "I could hire a mercenary band, but I would prefer not to go down that road, and you and your friends proved most capable the last time. I thought I would approach you first."

"Yes, we'll help," answered Hawke, and Sebastian bowed slightly. "I can't do it until tomorrow, though; I have a few things to take care of today, and I need to get some people together."

"That is even sooner than I had hoped for," Sebastian replied gratefully. "Truly, the Maker sent you to me."

"I don't know what time it will be," said Hawke thoughtfully. "I wouldn't like to give you a time and then be late, but it should be before lunchtime. Is that all right? Shall I meet you here?"

"Come when you may; I will be here all day."

Hawke nodded and glanced around. "Do you…work here, or something?"

Sebastian shook his head and laughed softly. "Not exactly. I am in the process of preparing to take vows as a brother."

"But…I thought you were a prince?"

Sebastian sighed. "It's a long story; perhaps one you do not have time to hear today. Maybe I'll tell you tomorrow, if you're truly interested?"

"All right," said Hawke with a nod. "See you tomorrow, then."

Sebastian once again shook Hawke's hand and bowed. "Andraste guide you, Hawke."

"You, as well," replied Hawke, and he made his way out.

He stood outside the chantry for several minutes, looking up at the steps that led to the Hightown Estates. So, he was about to ask a proud, prickly man who hated mages if he would like to be taught to read. By a mage. Nothing hard about _that_. Should Hawke just come out and say it? No…maybe he should approach the subject obliquely. But then, Fenris appreciated directness. But Hawke couldn't just ask him as soon as he opened the door, could he?

"This was a stupid idea," he grumbled to himself. "What was I thinking? Whatever I do, it's not going to end well, is it?"

He trudged down the steps leading away from the chantry, and, as he turned in the direction of the Keep, he collided with a startled Fenris, who dropped a small sack he was carrying.

"Fenris! I'm sorry," he exclaimed, rushing to pick up the sack.

Fenris beat him to it, though, and dusted himself down. "Hawke…I did not expect to see you here again."

"Oh, I just went to the chantry," he said casually. "What's in the sack? Anything nice?"

"I have purchased some provisions," he said, opening the bag for Hawke to examine. Inside were some potatoes and a small joint of meat.

"Fed up of porridge and biscuits, eh?"

"A little, yes," Fenris answered with a rueful shrug. "Would…would you care to…I mean, there is too much here for me. Have you eaten?"

"Believe it or not, I haven't, and you'll probably hear my stomach growl in a minute to prove it."

"You travelled up the steps on an empty stomach?" asked Fenris.

"I know. I'm as weak as a kitten."

Fenris's eyes crinkled slightly. "Then, if you have no other plans, I would gladly share my food with you…if you would like."

A warm glow spread through Hawke's chest, but he affected a casual expression. "Well that's very decent of you, Fenris; I gratefully accept your kind offer. Maybe after we've eaten, you could come back to the Keep with me? I'd like to know what's gone on with Aveline."

"I would like that," replied Fenris, and the two of them headed for the mansion.

"Do you know how to make gravy?" asked Hawke as they started up the steps.

"No, I don't."

"Well, I know it involves the juices from the meat and flour, but I'm sure there's more to it than that. There are bound to be some recipe books in that library of yours."

"I'm sure there are; we will have a look upon entering."

"Perfect," said Hawke, keeping the crafty smile that threatened to split his face well-hidden.


	19. Chapter 19

"Ah, here it is: 'Recipe for Traditional Gravy'."

Hawke ran his finger down the page of the dusty book, screwing his face up as he reached the bottom. "I've got to make some stock? Oh, I can't be bothered with all that. Fenris, what kind of meat did you buy?"

"Beef."

Hawke's frown transformed into a smug grin as he snapped the book closed. "I know what we can use for stock. Any of that wine left?"

"There are several bottles in the cellar."

"Well, when it's convenient for you, would you fetch one, please? We don't need it straight away, though; not until the meat's done."

"I will go now," said Fenris with a nod.

"Bring two up, actually," suggested Hawke. "We can drink the other one."

Fenris looked puzzled. "Will the wine in the gravy not suffice? If we drink two bottles between us we will become inebriated, and we _had_ planned to visit the Keep."

Hawke laughed. "No! The alcohol in the gravy will burn off; it's just for flavour. We can't get drunk on it."

"Oh, I see." Fenris sighed. "You must think me quite…benighted."

"Why would I think that? You don't cook very often, so how would you know that? _ I_ only know because Mother told me. If she hadn't, I'd be drinking gravy all the time instead of wine to get drunk: gravy tastes a lot better, and slips down nicely."

"You…_drink _gravy?"

"Certainly not," Hawke replied quickly; a little _too _quickly, Fenris suspected. "I don't drink custard or pickle juice, either. I mean, why _would_ I?"

"Why, indeed?" asked Fenris, raising an eyebrow sceptically.

"I don't lick the bowl when Mother's made a cake, either. And I've _definitely_ never eaten flowers while drunk; that would be stupid, wouldn't it? If I _had _done any of those things, you would be quite right to look as disgusted as you do about now…"

"…_Flowers_?"

"Oh, only nice ones; no weeds or anything like that. I think it was nasturtiums. Not that I ever _did _eat them, of course; these are hypothetical nasturtiums, you understand."

"Yes, I believe I do," answered Fenris drily. "I will fetch the wine, now. Two bottles."

"Red wine, please. I'll meet you back in the kitchen," said Hawke with a slight grimace. Fenris nodded and left the library, and Hawke fancied he heard a quiet snort, but couldn't be certain.

"Maker, Fletcher!" he hissed quietly to himself. "Stop talking crap, or he'll think you're a complete arse!"

Glancing down at the book, his stomach flipped over. Somehow, he had to slip the subject of reading into their conversation, and had to offer to teach Fenris to read without offending him. A tall order at the best of times, but Hawke was not exactly at his urbane best today: more like a nervous wreck. He tucked the book under his arm and headed for the kitchen, where Fenris had left his groceries after Hawke had offered to cook, saying it was the least he could do, considering he'd eaten most of Fenris's oats.

Fenris arrived in the kitchen a short time later to find Hawke peeling potatoes while the joint of beef sizzled in a skillet he'd suspended above the fireplace. Fenris placed the two wine bottles on the counter and glanced at the fireplace.

"Shouldn't a joint be roasted or boiled?" asked Fenris.

"Oh, I'm just sealing it," Hawke replied, dropping some of the peeled potatoes into a small cauldron. "Keeps the juices in."

"Do we not need the juices for the gravy?"

"Oh, some of them will still come out, don't worry," Hawke answered with a bright smile.

Fenris nodded and watched as Hawke began to add some herbs to a small bowl of flour. "This is to coat the potatoes with," Hawke explained. "When they're half boiled, I'll roll them in this, and then stick them in the oven."

"You have prepared a similar meal before, then?"

"Oh yes," answered Hawke proudly. "I always used to do the Sunday roast at home; in Lothering, I mean. I know it's not a very manly thing to do, but I don't care: I enjoy cooking. It gave Mother a rest, as well. Bethany always helped prepare the veg and she made the gravy; that's why I had to look it up."

"'Sunday Roast'? That is what you call this meal?"

"Yes; I know it's not Sunday today, but that's generally what it's known as in Ferelden." He pointed to the open cookbook, feeling a flutter in his belly. "That's what it's called in here: Sunday Roast."

"Then it is fortunate you are here; I would have boiled everything," Fenris confessed.

"It tells you in the book how to prepare the meat and the potatoes and everything," said Hawke, crossing over to the fireplace to turn the meat over. He walked back to find Fenris looking at the illustrations in the book. "Fenris, have you ever considered learning to read?" he asked nonchalantly, doing his best not to cringe as he spoke.

"I have never needed to."

"Have you ever _wanted_ to, though?" asked Hawke, scratching his nose with the back of his hand, leaving a smudge of flour behind.

Fenris shrugged. "I do not see a need for it," he replied, evading Hawke's question.

Hawke turned his back on the counter and leaned against it, crossing his legs at the ankles. "You're missing out, you know: there are so many wonderful stories out there. I find reading's a good way to relax at the end of the day. I often fall asleep with a book in my hand."

Fenris smiled softly, but said nothing.

"Being able to read could save your life, as well," Hawke added. "Let's say…let's say you wanted to take a shortcut across a field but you couldn't read the sign that warned of the bull, or the vicious dog. You'd need to be a bloody fast runner in that case."

"I can run," countered Fenris.

"What if you slipped on a cow pat?"

"That seems unlikely," scoffed Fenris, still smiling.

"You never know," warned Hawke, waggling his index finger.

"Well, I will ensure I do not take shortcuts across fields from now on."

"That was just an example, Fenris." Hawke moved over to the fire and wrapped a cloth around his hand, removing the skillet from the fire and placing it in the oven. He turned back to Fenris.

"There is flour on your nose," observed Fenris.

"Oh." Hawke rubbed his nose with his fingers.

"Now there is more," Fenris told him, amused. "There was flour on your fingers, also."

Hawke gave him a mock-stern look, and, for a split second, he was sorely tempted to smear Fenris's nose with flour. Instead, he reached for his cloth and scrubbed at his own nose, turning his head from side to side for Fenris to inspect.

"Gone?"

"Gone."

"Anyway," resumed Hawke, realising that Fenris had changed the subject, "I can't imagine not being able to read. You know, reading a story is a great way to escape from everyday life. I can get lost in a book and forget everything else that's going on. Sometimes hours fly by without me realising it."

"I am too old to learn," Fenris argued, also leaning against the counter a few feet away from Hawke. "I am an adult, not a child. Besides, I do not have the coin to hire a tutor. I am glad to hear you derive such pleasure from reading, but I do not think it would be possible for me to learn, now."

"That's nonsense," Hawke insisted. "You're never too old. And you wouldn't need a tutor…I mean, um…" Hawke cleared his throat and started fiddling with his fingers. "If you wanted…well, _I_ could teach you to read."

Silence, punctuated only by the spitting of the joint in the oven, descended on the kitchen. Hawke didn't dare look up from his hands.

"You would…teach me?"

Hawke nodded, still not looking up from his fingers.

"Why?"

"Well, because I'd like _you_ to experience the pleasure of reading, as well. Also, I'm a bit of a bookworm, and it would be nice to have someone to talk about books with."

"Does Anders not speak with you of books? He always has a tome of some kind under his arm."

"Those books of his are in Arcanum, and I can't read that," Hawke explained, raising his head to look at Fenris. "Actually…that didn't even occur to me. Would you want to read in Arcanum or the common tongue? I can't help you with Arcanum, I'm afraid."

"I have no wish to read _anything_ written in Arcanum," Fenris said shortly, anger creeping into his voice. "All of Danarius's books were also written in that language."

This time, Hawke did cringe. "Oh. Erm…maybe this wasn't a good idea, after all. I-I just thought I'd offer. You're pretty much the most intelligent person I know, and it seems a shame you can't read, that's all."

"I am the most intelligent person you know?" scoffed Fenris. "Clearly, you do not know many people."

"Stop that," Hawke said irritably.

"Stop what?"

"Stop putting yourself down. My brother Carver used to do that all the time, and it drove me mad. There are plenty of people in this world who are willing to put you down, without you doing it to yourself." He turned away from Fenris and began tidying up the counter.

Fenris stared at Hawke's back, lost for words, the horrible gnawing sensation in his stomach returning. Hawke had just offered to teach him to read, something he'd always dreamed of but had never thought possible, and Fenris had done his best to push him away. Why did he always do this? Why could he not just see the gesture for what it was, and accept it gratefully?

Was it too late to do that, now?

"I'm sorry, Hawke," Fenris said quickly, sighing. "I seem to be acquiring a habit of apologising to you." He watched as Hawke's movements slowed a little. "I am very grateful for your offer, which I gladly accept, if it is still open."

Hawke turned to face Fenris, a look of uncertainty on his face, his stomach roiling. "Well…of course it is."

Fenris took a step forward and held his hand out to Hawke, who stared at it pretty much in the same way that Fenris had once stared at his. He reached over and gently shook the elf's hand, which was unclad, a warm hum travelling upward from the base of his spine as Fenris's skin touched his.

"I will set the table," said Fenris, releasing Hawke's hand and leaving the kitchen without another word, leaving a slack-mouthed Hawke to stare after him.

He glanced down at his palm, and then looked through the doorway and down the corridor; Fenris had gone. "He touched me," he whispered. He looked down the corridor one more time, walked over to the far side of the kitchen, and punched the air.

~o~O~o~

A little later, and, after showing Fenris how to make gravy, Hawke dished up and they carried their plates through to the dining room, where Fenris had done a fine job of laying the table. Hawke placed his plate down and rubbed his hands together with glee as he took his seat, his stomach rumbling loudly in anticipation.

"I'd like to propose a toast," announced Hawke, picking up his already-full wine glass, and Fenris, taking his own seat, did the same. "Erm…actually, I'm rubbish at toasts. Can _you_ think of anything, Fenris?" Hawke was actually quite good at toasts, but wanted to give Fenris the opportunity.

"To fine food, and fine company," the elf declared, and Hawke repeated the toast as their glasses clinked together.

As they ate, Hawke told Fenris of his plans for the following day. "I'm going over to The Gallows, and then I have a job to do with…oh, wait, you don't know him. His name's Sebastian, and apparently he's a prince." Hawke nodded as Fenris's eyebrows rose in surprise, and then continued. "His family were unfortunately killed and he wants a few of us to help him find the culprits. Fancy coming? You won't need to go far; we're to meet him at the chantry."

"Yes, I will come," Fenris agreed, and pointed to his plate with his knife. "This is...very nice."

"Oh, good; I'm glad you like it. Better than everything boiled, eh?"

"Indeed," answered Fenris. "You are a man of many talents, Hawke."

"Not really; we all had to pitch in at the farm. All the men in the house knew how to cook, and the women sometimes worked in the fields at very busy times. We never let them do the really backbreaking work, though."

Fenris nodded and took a sip of wine. "Why must you visit The Gallows?"

"Oh, to collect the reward for turning those mages in," he said quickly, not wishing to linger on the subject. "I'll get your cut to you when I find out how much the reward is."

"No rush," Fenris said.

"Actually, I'm thinking Justice should get a cut from that job instead of Anders, seeing as Justice saved our arses and Anders sodded off. What do you think?"

A warm smile lit up the elf's face and he shook his head. "How would one compensate a spirit?"

"I dunno," mused Hawke with a shrug. "Maybe Anders has a little coin slot on his belly or something? That way, I could pay Justice directly."

"Wha-" Fenris's face crumpled, and his knife clattered against his plate as he covered his face with his hands, his body trembling.

Hawke gasped, hardly able to believe what he was seeing. "Are you laughing or crying?" Hawke asked, laughing himself. "Please don't cry; it wasn't _that _bad, was it?"

Fenris shook his head, still covering his face, and Hawke could see that beneath his hands, Fenris's face had turned red.

"Do you think Justice would give me change, Fenris?" Hawke joked, and, as Fenris bent forward and clutched at his stomach, wailing, Hawke began to snigger, overjoyed at the sight.

"Stop it!" Fenris commanded in a cracked whisper. "I-I cannot breathe!"

"Perhaps it's best if he doesn't give change," Hawke mused casually. "I _dread_ to think where it would come from."

Fenris pushed his chair back and strode out of the dining room, and Hawke, creased up with laughter, followed him out. Fenris was leaning unsteadily against a wall in the vestibule, his hands braced on his knees, his rich, deep, beautiful laughter like music as it reverberated off the walls. "Don't-don't come any closer!" He warned Hawke, holding a flattened palm out. "I cannot take any more!"

Hawke covered his mouth with one hand and bit his bottom lip in utter delight as Fenris fought valiantly to regain his dignity. Once or twice, he appeared to have succeeded, but, as soon as he looked at Hawke, he turned away, his body once again trembling.

"I cannot do this if you are watching me, Hawke!"

"All right, Fenris; I'll have mercy on you. I'll go into the dining room." With one final glance at the elf, he walked back into the room where they'd shared their meal, and took his seat, chuckling to himself, his insides glowing.

Listening carefully, he heard Fenris clear his throat several times and take a deep breath. The sound of bare feet padding against the stone followed, and Hawke became aware that Fenris was standing in the doorway behind him. He heard another sharp intake of breath, and Fenris slowly walked back to the table, taking his seat with consummate elegance and poise.

"Do _not_ look at me," Fenris commanded, his own eyes fixed firmly on his plate as he picked up his knife.

Hawke, however, did look at him; his face was blotchy and his eyes red. Hawke also noticed that Fenris's eyebrows were pushed together in deep concentration.

"You're _dying_ to laugh," Hawke guessed.

"I am _not_."

"Are too."

"If you continue to…" Fenris paused as an almost pained expression came over him. "Do not persist with this…"

"You're right, Fenris," said Hawke in an apologetic tone. "I won't persist. That wouldn't be _just, _would it?"

Fenris swivelled in his seat, turning away from Hawke, and once again his shoulders began to tremble. "Stop it! My-my stomach hurts!"

Hawke, also laughing, resumed his meal. "Come on, Fenris; your dinner's getting cold," he teased.

Fenris took several deep breaths and slowly turned back. "Please, Hawke; I really cannot take any more."

"I promise," said Hawke. "No more."

Fenris nodded and very cautiously began to slice his meat, expecting Hawke to break his promise at any moment. "You do realise that I will not be able to look at him from now on without…"

"Without laughing?" ventured Hawke. "That'll go down a treat, especially with…a certain spirit, who shall remain nameless."

Fenris bit his lip, suppressing his laughter, and finally glanced at Hawke, who flashed a brilliant smile at him. "Hawke, I have not laughed like that since…in fact, I do not ever remember laughing like that."

"Well, if my terrible sense of humour makes you laugh, you'll be doing it a lot more from now on," Hawke promised him.

Fenris nodded and took a bite of meat. "Thank you," he said quietly.

Hawke took up his wine glass and raised it toward Fenris. "To friendship, and to making Fenris laugh."

Fenris picked up his own glass and tapped it against Hawke's. "To friendship, and to making me laugh."

"I'm going to remember this moment the next time we have an argument," Hawke said mischievously. "Which probably won't be too far away."

"As will I, Hawke." He once again tapped his glass against Hawke's, and they shared another laugh before finishing their meal.

~o~O~o~

Agreeing to start Fenris's reading lessons the following day, after dealing with Sebastian's problem, the two men cleared away the dishes and washed up. Some beef was left over, which Hawke recommended Fenris use for sandwiches with a spot of mustard.

Feeling pleasantly full, they headed for the Keep to check on Aveline. On the way, Hawke noted that fewer nobles were staring at Fenris, and, with a sneaky glance at the elf, he surmised that perhaps it was because Fenris wasn't scowling today, and allowed himself a satisfied smile.

Upon entering the barracks, they were greeted by Donnic, who appeared to have assumed Aveline's role, and was issuing orders to some of the guards.

"Ah, there you are," he said cordially, walking up to them both, and shook Hawke's hand. "Is your hand better, Fenris?" he asked the elf.

Fenris quickly glanced at Hawke before extending his own hand to Donnic. "It is, thank you."

Although Fenris now wore his gauntlets, Hawke felt he would burst with pride as they shook hands. "Hawke," said Donnic, nodding over to Jeven's office. "Aveline wants to see you. She's in there with Bran."

As Hawke nodded, one of the other guards, spotting Fenris, walked over. "Ah, so you're the one who thrashed Donnic's arse, are you? Well done, mate!"

Watching in bewilderment as the laughing guard walked away, Fenris turned back to Donnic. "You…told him I defeated you?"

"Yes, why wouldn't I?"

"You see no shame in being bested by an elf?"

"Sorry, Fenris, I don't follow you," Donnic replied with a frown. "There's no shame in being beaten by a better man. Being an elf has nothing to do with it."

Fenris hung his head modestly. "I…well, I am honoured."

"I'll leave you to it," said Hawke, smiling. "You can talk about swords, or something."

"We certainly will," answered Donnic. "Come on, Fenris, I'll show you around the barracks."

"No trying to recruit him!" Hawke warned.

"Damn!" Donnic snapped his fingers, and Hawke laughed before turning to enter the office.

"Ah, Hawke, you're back," Aveline said as he entered. "Bran, this is Hawke, the one I told you about."

"How do you do?" asked Hawke.

Bran looked Hawke up and down, nodded once, and turned back to Aveline. "I will take my leave." With that, he departed.

"You know, I'm sure I've seen him somewhere before," Hawke mused, his eyes following the seneschal as he glided out of the office. "Ah, I know: Anders's clinic. Caught the clap off some whore down at the docks, I think."

"Shhh!" Aveline sniggered, rushing over to close the door. "You must be mistaken, Hawke. Bran wouldn't lower himself."

"No, I'm telling you, it was him. I think I've seen him twice, actually." As Aveline leaned against the desk, Hawke glanced around the room. "This is Jeven's office, isn't it?"

"No, Hawke; it's mine."

"But…" Hawke scratched his head. "Since when have _you_ had an office?"

Aveline groaned. "Since I was made guard-captain, Hawke."

"Uh?"

"Jevens is out," she told him. "Apparently, he was up to his eyeballs in debt, and decided to make some quick coin by selling confidential documents from the Viscount's office. And by selling, I mean arranging for the guard who was carrying the satchel containing those documents to be pummelled, and the documents 'stolen'."

"Well, we'd already figured that out," said Hawke.

"Indeed we did, and now we have proof." She pushed herself off the desk and took a step closer to Hawke. "The Viscount rewarded us by giving me Jeven's post, and promoting Donnic to lieutenant. We couldn't have done this without your help, Hawke. I won't forget it."

"So…_you're _guard-captain, now?"

"That's what I said, Hawke."

"Wow," Hawke mumbled. "Aveline from Lothering, eh?"

"Well, I wasn't _originally_ from Lothering…"

"Now, don't ruin my chance to say that I knew Guard-Captain Vallen back in the day," joked Hawke.

"All right," laughed Aveline. "I owe you that much, at least."

"I'm proud of you," Hawke said sincerely. "If that…means anything, that is."

"Of course it does, Hawke; it means a lot."

Hawke turned away from her and sighed. "Aveline…I've been…I've been a real prick to you."

"No you haven't," she protested. "You've been a great help to me."

"When we first got here, I mean," he said, turning to face her. "I…"

"Neither of us were at our best when we first arrived, Hawke. We'd both lost someone very important to us."

"I blamed you for that," Hawke confessed. "For a long time I blamed you for Carver's death; you were distracted because Wesley was injured."

Aveline lowered her head and nodded. "I thought as much."

"That was…terribly wrong of me, Aveline," he said, his voice wavering. "All I cared about at the time was Carver. No, actually, all I cared about was _me_. How _I _felt. You lost Wesley, as well, Aveline. "I'm-I'm sorry. I'm so sorry about Wesley."

They stood in silence for a few moments before Hawke spoke again.

"I don't blame you now, Aveline. I was wrong. I blamed myself, as well, but I don't even…" He shrugged. "It was the darkspawns' fault. _They_ took Wesley and Carver from us; no one else."

"I appreciate you saying that, Hawke. For a long time, I blamed myself for both of their deaths, but time is a great healer, as they say. I don't feel that way anymore, either. Not a day goes by when I don't think about Wesley, and I'm sure it's the same for you with Carver, but neither of them would want us to stop living our lives."

"I should have told you this sooner, Aveline. I've had a chip on my shoulder that Carver would have been proud of, but lately…I don't know. I feel…more at peace. Do you understand that?"

Aveline smiled thinly. "I do, Hawke. Apology accepted, although it _does_ seem strange that you made it on the day I was promoted to guard-captain," she quipped.

"Didn't work, then?"

"Not for one second, Hawke."

"Come here," said Hawke, and they embraced.

Aveline pulled away and sighed. "Now, get out of here before we both start blubbing."

"As you order, Guard-Captain." Hawke laid his fist across his chest and bowed.

"If you need me, Hawke, you know where I am," she said.

"Same goes for me, Aveline."

"And leave the door open when you leave," she instructed him. "Jeven always kept the door locked. I want everyone to know that there are no secrets in this office from now on."

"You're going to do very well, Aveline," he told her, and departed, leaving the door open.

~o~O~o~

After Fenris's tour of the barracks, during which Donnic _did _unsuccessfully try to recruit him, he met up with Hawke, who offered to buy him a drink at The Hanged Man. Fenris accepted, and Hawke made sure they took their time getting there, wanting to make the most of their pleasant discourse.

Upon entering the pub, Fenris hesitated at the door after noticing that Anders and Isabela were sat with Varric and Bethany.

Sensing his reticence, Hawke turned back a little and whispered, "Don't worry, Fenris. If Anders gives you any lip, just think of the coin slot."

Hearing a quiet snigger from Fenris, Hawke grinned and walked over to the table, noticing Anders whisper something to Isabela before he leapt out of his chair.

"Hawke! There you are! We were just talking about you."

"Oh?" Hawke intoned as Anders swallowed him in an enthusiastic hug.

"And if it isn't my _favourite _elf," drawled Isabela, sauntering over to Fenris.

"Isabela," Fenris said with a curt nod.

"Come and sit down, Hawke," invited Anders, and Hawke took a seat, saying a quick hello to Varric and Bethany. "Your sister told me you have a trip to The Gallows planned," Anders said brightly, plonking himself down next to Hawke.

"That's right," answered Hawke, glancing at Fenris, who had been led over to the bar by Isabela.

"When? Tomorrow?"

"What? Oh, yes. Do you want to come?"

"Definitely," answered Anders. "I'd be very interested to have a look at that place."

"Well, don't forget you need to wear something…unmagey," Hawke reminded him.

"Oh, I know; I already have an outfit ready."

"I wouldn't have expected you to be so enthusiastic about that place, Blondie," opined Varric.

"No, me, neither," mumbled Hawke, somewhat distracted by the fact that Isabela had slipped her arm through Fenris's and was stroking his hair. Although Fenris was clearly uncomfortable with her attention, there was no hint of the terror Hawke had seen in the elf when _he'd _touched Fenris.

"Well, you know what they say," chirped Anders, "you keep your enemies close. And I'm not too big to admit that I could be wrong about the place. I won't know until I've seen it, will I?"

"You've changed your tune, hasn't he, Hawke?" asked Varric.

"Yes," Hawke muttered, wondering if he should step in and rescue Fenris, but then deciding against it, suspecting Fenris may not appreciate such a gesture. He continued to watch as Isabela ran a manicured finger down Fenris's arm, and felt his stomach drop when Fenris forced a strained smile.

Of course. How could he have been so stupid? It all seemed so clear, now. Fenris was attracted to women. Why in the world _would _he be attracted to men, anyway, after what Danarius had done to him? Feeling like a complete idiot, Hawke felt an unpleasant fluttering in his chest and he swallowed hard.

"I'm, erm…I'm going home," he announced, standing up.

"But you _will_ meet me here, tomorrow morning?" pressed Anders.

"Yes, of course."

"Brother?" asked Bethany, concerned.

"I can feel one of my headaches coming on, Beth; I'll be fine. See you later." With a nod to Varric, he quickly made his way out. As he did so, Bethany's eyes wandered over to where Isabela and Fenris stood by the bar.

Hawke quickly made his way through the stalls of Lowtown, ignoring the merchants' calls to sample their wares. He knew he'd been rude to leave like that, but he didn't care; he felt like a fool. His afternoon with Fenris had been so wonderful, and had given him so much hope. Why hadn't it ever occurred to him that Fenris may not be interested in men, in him? And he was a mage, as well. Perhaps he would have to settle on Fenris's friendship and nothing else; he should be grateful to have that, at least, he told himself.

"Hawke?"

Fenris's voice.

Hawke slowed his pace a little, wondering if he could get away with pretending he hadn't heard, but that idea became moot as Fenris arrived in front of him.

"Fenris."

"Why did you leave?" asked the elf, clearly confused.

"Sorry, Fenris, I should have let you know I was going," replied Hawke, his eyes wandering around the market.

"What's the matter?"

"I, um, I have a headache," he claimed, rubbing his forehead for effect. "Probably the wine. I thought you were busy with Isabela, anyway; I didn't want to interrupt you."

"More like _she_ was busy with _me_," Fenris muttered grimly.

"But I thought…you didn't seem to mind." Hawke paused, giving himself a warning not to sound _too_ concerned.

Fenris sighed. "I did not wish to be impolite. My true thoughts were not suitable for a woman's ears."

"Oh." Hawke nodded, his shoulders sagging. "I apologise, Fenris; I did say I'd buy you a drink."

"That is unimportant," said the elf. "I was…hoping we could discuss my first reading lesson; what it will entail, but, if you are unwell, I will not trouble you further."

"Oh, well, it's…not _that_ bad, now I've had a bit of air," Hawke protested weakly. "I'm certain you must have a lot of questions. Well, let's go back, then. We'll have to sit at a separate table, though; that is, if you don't want anyone else to know."

Fenris shook his head. "I have no desire to be _pawed_ again by that woman."

"Erm…we _could_ go to my house; it's not far, and there's all the tea you can drink."

One side of Fenris's mouth curved upward. "Will there be…shortbread?"

"I'm certain I could find some," Hawke answered with a gentle smile.

"Then lead the way, Hawke," prompted Fenris.


	20. Chapter 20

Even the hard, draughty floor of Gamlen's bedroom could not keep Fletcher from blissful sleep that night. The previous evening, Fenris had stayed for supper at Leandra's insistence, and, with Bethany home as well, a very pleasant meal was had by all. Fenris had been quiet but achingly polite throughout, but, as he'd relaxed a little, the occasional quip or witty comment had left his mouth, and by the time Fenris was ready to depart, Fletcher noted he'd never seen the elf so at ease with himself. That thought was what gently lulled Fletcher to sleep that night, pushing the niggling thought of how long this happiness would last firmly to the back of his mind.

As his eyes flickered open the following morning, however, that niggling thought was now the _only_ thing on his mind, and the lightness of body and spirit he'd felt the day before was long gone, his limbs leaden as he reluctantly pushed himself up.

Trudging into the main room, he was greeted by Leandra, who was laying the table for breakfast.

"Good morning, dear; did you sleep well?"

"Mm," Hawke mumbled, rubbing his eyes and yawning. "You?"

"Fairly well, dear. What would you like?"

"Whatever's easiest for you, Mother," replied Hawke, slumping into a chair at the small dining table. "Do you need a hand?" he asked lethargically.

"No, I'm fine; Bethany's helping out. Tea?"

Hawke nodded wearily, and Leandra's gaze lingered on him for a second before she entered the kitchen.

"Bethany, my dear," she said to her daughter, beckoning her over. "Fletcher doesn't seem himself."

"Well, that's surprising," said Bethany with a frown. "I would have thought he'd be in good spirits after last night."

"So would I," answered Leandra thoughtfully. "Go and find out what troubles him, Daughter; he always confides in you."

Bethany placed a hand on Leandra's arm. "You know that's only because he doesn't want to worry you."

"Yes, I know, dear," said Leandra with a sigh. "Do go and talk to him, won't you?"

"I will." Bethany ladled some porridge into a bowl and poured a mug of tea, taking them through to the main room.

"Good morning, Brother," she said brightly, placing the bowl and mug in front of him.

"Morning, Beth. Aren't you having anything?"

"I've already eaten." She took a seat next to him. "Well, last night went well, didn't it? It seems that Fenris ended up having a meal with us after all, like I suggested."

Hawke nodded and picked up his spoon, but, instead of eating his porridge, he stirred it and sank back in his chair. "Yes, it was a good night," he said blankly.

Feigning ignorance, Bethany frowned. "Did things not go as you'd have liked last night?" she asked. "You don't seem very enthusiastic about it."

"Sorry, Beth," he said heavily, his head falling back. He stared at the ceiling for several moments while Bethany waited for him to continue. "I…had a visitor during the night," he said quietly.

"A _visitor_? Oh…do you mean…Synia?" she asked in a whisper.

Hawke closed his eyes and nodded.

"And what did _she _have to say?" Bethany asked sourly.

"Oh, the usual, you know. She has a new reason to torment me, now; she went on and on about Fenris. How he'd butcher me if ever he found out I was a blood mage, that sort of thing. Fucking bitch loves it, doesn't she?" He threw his spoon into the porridge and stood up, walking over to the tiny window at the front of the room.

Bethany slowly followed him and stood next to him, taking his hand. Hawke looked down at her hand and then glanced back out of the window, not looking at anything in particular.

"How does she even know about Fenris?" asked Bethany.

Hawke took a deep breath, releasing it in a shaky sigh. "Probably because I've…I've had a couple of dreams about him. And, no, you don't want to know what happened in them." He released her hand and walked back over to the table, leaning on it and shaking his head.

"How long has it been since she last visited you?"

"Not since…while we were on our way here, when we were on the ship. She got a kick out of…oh, it doesn't matter." He didn't think Bethany needed to hear that Synia, the demon he'd made a deal with so long ago, had taken great pleasure in reminding him of how much pain Carver must have endured before he'd died.

"Do you think I should tell him, Beth?"

"Oh, I don't know, Fletcher," she groaned, once again arriving at his side and pulling a chair out for him; he sat, as did she. "It's not up to me; only you can make a decision like that."

"I want to tell him, Beth; I don't want to keep something like this from him, something so…_big_. I know something about him that…" He took a deep breath and straightened up in the chair. Bethany quirked an eyebrow but didn't press him for details. "I _can't_ tell him though, can I?" he continued. "Not if there's ever to be a chance of…"

"…Romance?" Bethany finished for him, and he shrugged. "From what I've seen of his reaction to blood mages, you could be right. I hate to say this, Fletcher, but perhaps it would be best if you didn't pursue a romance with him at all; it could save you both a lot of heartache if ever he did find out. I know how much you like him, but maybe it's better that you feel a bit bad now, instead of being heartbroken later on."

Hawke slumped onto the table and rested his chin against his folded arms. "I-I don't even know if he likes…men. I mean, how do you ask someone something like that? It's so much easier for men who are attracted to women. If they try to chat a woman up, the worst they can expect is a slap or an ale bath. If_ I_ were to chat up a bloke, I'd risk a knife in the ribs for my trouble, or a beating at the very least."

He sat up and turned to Bethany. "The thing is, Beth, I don't know if I _can _just forget about him. He's so _different_ to everyone else. He's so…I don't know. There's just something about him. I can't stop thinking about him."

"Then you can never tell him, and he must never find out. Who else knows?"

"Well, you, of course, Varric, and Anders. Justice knows, but he doesn't seem inclined to tell anyone. Varric, I trust completely, and he couldn't care less, anyway. It's Anders I'm the most concerned about. Under normal circumstances, I do trust him, but he has a tendency to run his mouth off when he's het up about something."

"Well, you need to keep Anders away from Fenris, then."

"You mean not take them on jobs together?"

Bethany nodded. "That's exactly what I mean."

Hawke considered this, and then frowned. "I _could_ do that most of the time, but there will be a problem in the future. Anders is a must for the expedition, as is Varric. I wanted to take Fenris, as well; I think we'd be quite vulnerable without him."

"Do you think it's likely you'll encounter any demons or blood mages in the deep roads?" asked Bethany.

"Probably not, no."

"Then hopefully Anders won't get worked up enough to shoot his mouth off. And you could always take Aveline in place of Fenris, if she's free."

Hawke sighed. "You make a lot of sense, Sister. She just…rattled me, that's all."

"That's exactly what she wants, Fletcher. She can see you're happy and she doesn't like it. Ooh, I wish I could enter your part of the Fade and kill that bitch!"

"I wish I could, as well," growled Hawke. "Only, part of our agreement was that my powers are suspended whenever she visits me. _ I'm_ not stupid at all, am I?"

"You were young, Brother."

"That doesn't excuse what I did."

"You _don't _know that was your fault, Fletcher," Bethany said firmly. "You seem to be the only one who blames _you_ for what happened."

"Why else would he have killed himself, Beth?"

"There could have been any number of reasons!"

"Bit of a coincidence though, wasn't it? The very next day? After…" He stood up and pushed his chair back. "I don't want to talk about this. I'm going to get dressed."

"Fletcher…"

"I'm sorry, Beth."

He entered his and Gamlen's shared bedroom and closed the door, leaning against it, his mind wandering back to one of the darkest episodes of his life.

Fletcher had been fifteen and Carver and Bethany eleven when one day, over breakfast, a clamour had erupted outside their farmhouse. Fletcher recalled as he and his family had ventured outside to see what all the shouting was about, and the first thing he'd seen was his neighbour, Mrs. Bradshaw, falling to her knees and screaming hysterically.

By now, half of the village had gathered around the barn that the Hawke and Bradshaw families shared, and Fletcher's father, Malcolm, had joined the small crowd, wanting to know what had happened. As Mrs. Bradshaw was carried off, still screaming, by some of the villagers, an ashen-faced Malcolm had returned to his family, placing a hand on Fletcher's shoulder.

"Son, I have some bad news about your friend, Dalton. You should prepare yourself."

"What is it, Malcolm? What's happened?" Leandra had asked.

"Mrs. Bradshaw's son was found…hanging…in the barn. I-I'm sorry, Fletcher."

"He was _my_ friend as well, in case you'd forgotten!" Carver had snapped, his face reddening.

"We know, dear," Leandra had told him softly, placing her arm around his shoulders, and her other around Bethany, who was crying. "It's just that he and Fletcher were especially close."

"They were bloody close, all right," Carver had sniped. "Where did you two go off to last night?" he'd asked Fletcher accusingly. "What did you do to him?"

"I…I…Carver, don't…"

"Come on, Fletcher; let's get you inside," his father had said briskly, seeing that Fletcher was trembling. "It won't do to weep, here. You can do it inside, in private." He'd turned to his wife. "Leandra…I need to go and find Tom; he's out in the fields. I think I should be the one to tell him."

Leandra had nodded, and released Carver, holding her hand out to Fletcher. "Come on, darling."

"That's right, give _him_ all the attention!"

"Stop it, Carver!" Bethany had pleaded.

"All of you stop it," Leandra had said firmly. "We mustn't make a show of ourselves. We must be strong for the Bradshaws; they're going to need us."

"Tell _him_ that, then," Carver had said as they'd gone back inside the house, turning to the stricken Fletcher once they were inside. "I _hate_ you. This is all your fault. Everything's always your fault!"

~o~O~o~

If Hawke hadn't already arranged to meet Anders, he wouldn't have bothered going to The Gallows at all, much preferring to find a rock to crawl under and die, but he finally managed to dress himself in a tunic and trousers that he'd bought second-hand. They didn't feel any more comfortable than Gamlen's clothing had, but at least they didn't look like they'd come out of the dark ages.

He'd left the house silently, leaving his staff propped against the wall to let Bethany know he'd gone. He didn't remember walking to The Hanged Man, but would never forget the sight that had greeted him when he arrived. Anders was already waiting outside the pub for him, wearing a doublet and shirt, boots, and breeches that looked like they'd been painted onto him. His hair was loose.

"Going riding, Anders?" Hawke had asked drily, his eyes wandering to Anders's groin. "Blimey, they don't leave much to the imagination, do they?"

Anders shrugged. "Not my fault that a pair of trousers hasn't yet been made that can contain _The_ _Beast_."

"You'll be giving those templars ideas, you know," Hawke snorted as they made their way to the docks. "That Cullen seemed a bit uptight, to me. Probably missing out on something."

"Cullen? You must be joking! He used to turn into a drooling wreck if one of the apprentices so much as winked at him. Which, of course, only made them wink more," he added with a wink of his own.

As they reached the docks and waited for the boat that would bear them across, Hawke felt glad he'd decided to meet with Anders, after all. Anders was in a chirpy and sarcastic mood, which always cheered him up, and he felt a slight pang of guilt as he glanced at his ebullient friend.

"Anders…I'm sorry we haven't seen much of each other, lately."

"Not your fault, Hawke. I've been busy at the clinic lately, and…well, after what happened…our argument, I mean, I thought I'd better lie low for a bit. I am sorry about that, you know."

Hawke sighed. "Me, too, Anders. Do you need any help at the clinic? Is it getting too much for you?"

"Things are slowing down now, Hawke. I only got busy because of that ship that arrived from Ferelden. I should be more available from now on, though I do have a few things to do after we've been here."

"That's all right. Have you considered getting some help at the clinic? I mean, I'll help out when I can, but couldn't you get someone to help you regularly?"

"Maybe I should ask the Templars if they have any healers to spare," Anders quipped as the boat arrived from across the harbour, and they embarked, Hawke slipping a few silvers to the boatman.

"Or I _could_ advertise," Anders continued. "Let's see; what do you think of this? 'Apostate healers wanted. We offer long hours, filthy conditions, no pay and the constant fear of being captured by the Templars.' I should be inundated!"

Hawke finally laughed, the first time he'd done so that morning. "I think you need to work on your sales pitch, Anders."

"You're probably right. No, it's a nice thought, Hawke, but I don't exactly have healers breaking down my door. I'll manage."

"Actually, Anders, I've been thinking," began Hawke.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that; are you feeling all right?"

"Piss off."

Anders burst out laughing, as did Hawke, finally feeling the knot in his stomach loosen. "No, I, erm, I was thinking of maybe becoming a full-time healer, once the expedition's out of the way. I know I'm not as good as you, but maybe I could work at the clinic with you? Learn from the best," he added with a cheeky grin.

A dazzling smile lit up Anders's face, and he looked genuinely touched at Hawke's offer. "Well…that would be great! And you're a perfectly good healer, Hawke; you just didn't get the education I did. I'll teach you, all right. I'd be happy to."

The two mages shook hands, and Anders wrapped his arm around Hawke's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "That is, assuming we don't get eaten by the darkspawn in the Deep Roads."

"They…_eat _people?"

"Oh, yes. Most of them carry a little cruet set and a knife and fork, just in case."

"Idiot," growled Hawke, shrugging off Anders's arm.

By the time they'd been rowed across, Hawke's disturbing encounter during the night was all but forgotten, and he quietly resolved to make more time for Anders from now on, although he realised that could be tricky, as he also wanted to see more of Fenris.

"We're here to see Knight-Captain Cullen," Hawke told the templars outside the gate. "I'm expected."

"Name?"

"Hawke."

After a short wait, Hawke and Anders were escorted to where Cullen was stationed at the foot of the steps leading up to the old prison. As they approached him, Anders plastered a broad smile across his face.

"Cullen! Been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Anders," Cullen said tersely, folding his arms.

"Told you the Tower couldn't hold me, didn't I?"

"You have your friend here to thank for your continued liberty, Anders," Cullen told him laconically. "Were it my choice, you would reside here."

"I see you've grown a stick up your arse since the last time we met, Cullen; good for you!" retorted Anders sarcastically.

"Anders, why don't you go and visit some of the stalls?" Hawke suggested, knowing that Anders wanted to look around, but also hoping to avoid any unpleasantness.

"Yes, I think I will," chirped Anders. "I can do whatever I like!" With a mocking grin at Cullen, he turned and headed towards a group of Tranquil merchants.

Cullen sighed heavily. "It was not easy to convince my fellows to leave him alone. I would recommend he curbs his…_exuberance_ while here."

"You have a reward for me?" asked Hawke, getting straight to the point.

"Indeed I do," said Cullen with a nod. "Wait here."

Cullen walked up the steps and went through a gate, disappearing around a corner. A short time later, he returned with a small coin purse, which he handed to Hawke.

"Your work is appreciated, Messere Hawke," said Cullen with a glance over at Anders. "That is the only reason Anders walks free. You would do well to remind him of that. Now, I must go. Until we meet again." With a nod, which Hawke returned, Cullen headed back up the steps, still watching Anders, who now stood in the middle of the square.

As Hawke turned toward Anders, he opened the coin purse and allowed himself a small smile: it contained ten sovereigns. As he neared Anders, however, he recalled that they had turned ten mages over to the Templars. Was that the value the Chantry placed on one mage? A sovereign?

Slipping the bag into his pocket, he glanced at Anders who stood a few feet ahead of him and appeared to be having a quiet conversation with himself.

"Anders? Are you talking to yourself?"

Anders started before quickly assuming a smirk. "Of course; it's the only way I get an intelligent conversation."

Hawke nodded, ignoring a slight shiver that travelled down his arms. "Well, I'm ready to go; are you?"

"Yes; I think I've seen all I need to see."

"What do you make of the place?" asked Hawke as they made their way to the boat. "Was it what you expected? Anything like the Circle Tower?"

"It's _worse _than the Circle Tower," Anders answered, anger flashing in his eyes, and then he took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. "Anyway, I need to get back to the clinic. Thanks for bringing me over, Hawke."

"All right," Hawke replied, his eyes narrowing a little as they embarked the small vessel.

In sharp contrast to his ebullient mood on the way over, Anders was very quiet on the way back, and, after a few attempts on Hawke's part to engage him in conversation, he gave up, and they travelled back to the mainland in silence.

"Might see you at The Hanged Man later, Hawke," Anders said once they'd arrived back in Lowtown.

"Yes, probably. Anders…are you all right?"

"Me, Hawke? Always!" Anders offered his hand, and Hawke shook it. "Have a good day."

"You too, Anders," answered Hawke as he watched his friend walk away, whistling to himself.

Hawke made his way home to change, finding that, on the way, Anders would not leave his mind, although he didn't know why. Something… Hawke shook his head, hoping to dismiss the feeling of vague unease that lingered on the periphery of his thoughts.

When he arrived home, he was relieved to find that no one was there, and he quickly donned a robe, took up his staff, and headed for Hightown.

~o~O~o~

Hawke met up with Varric and Sebastian at the chantry just before lunchtime, and, after a few pleasantries, they walked down the steps and waited in the square for Fenris, who had also promised to meet them.

"Does the elf know what time he was to meet us?" Varric asked Hawke after they'd waited for a while.

"Yes, we arranged it last night. I told him we'd meet him here at twelve bells. What time is it now?"

Sebastian glanced up at the bell tower atop the chantry. "By my reckoning, it's close to half past twelve."

"It's not like Fenris to be late," muttered Hawke, frowning a little.

"Perhaps we could call on him?" suggested Sebastian. "Where does he reside?"

"Hightown Estates," answered Hawke.

"Well, that's where we need to go, anyway. Shall we?" Sebastian walked ahead, and Hawke and Varric followed him up the steps.

"This is where Fenris lives," said Hawke, pointing to the first building on the left.

"_That_ old place?" asked Sebastian, raising his eyebrows. "I'm surprised _anyone_ lives there; it's a little dilapidated, isn't it?"

"It does him just fine," Hawke snapped, annoyed at Sebastian's apparent snobbishness, but more troubled at the hot fluttering in his chest that told him something was wrong.

"Oh, I didn't mean anything by it, Serah Hawke," Sebastian replied pleasantly. "My apologies."

"Right, erm, yes…sorry," mumbled Hawke.

"Want us to carry on, Hawke?" asked Varric, already knowing the answer.

"Yes, I'll erm…_we'll _catch up to you."

"The Harriman estate is the second on the left, around that bend," Sebastian told Hawke, pointing the place out to him.

"Right."

"Let's go, Choirboy," Varric instructed Sebastian, who laughed softly.

"Choirboy? My, that's a new one!" he chortled, following the dwarf.

Hawke waited until they were out of sight, and approached the front door of the mansion. He knew that there _could_ be several reasons why Fenris was late; Fenris, however, had never been late in all the time Hawke had known him, except once: the time Hawke had found him in unconscious in his room.

Releasing a long breath, Hawke made a fist and rapped hard against the door. If Fenris _had_ collapsed in a stupor again, Hawke had no idea of how to enter the mansion now that a lock had been fitted on the door, unless he ran after Varric and asked him to pick it.

He felt his heart start beating again as a quiet shuffling sound came from behind the door, and then a click. The door was opened by a pale, bleary-eyed Fenris, who was clothed in a long, white nightshirt which was obviously human-sized. Under any other circumstances, Hawke would have laughed at the sight.

"Yes, Hawke?"

"You're not dressed, yet?" Hawke asked in consternation. "We were to meet at the chantry, remember?"

"Oh," Fenris mumbled, slurring his words. "Is that the time already?"

"Have…have you been drinking?" Hawke took a step closer to Fenris, who backed away, and sniffed at the air.

"Of course I've been drinking," protested the elf. "Drinking is vital to one's survival."

"I _meant _alcohol," Hawke said angrily. "I can smell it on you!"

Fenris closed his eyes for a moment, bracing his hand against the door when he swayed slightly. "I'm terribly sorry, Hawke. I will be out shortly." Fenris went to close the door but Hawke pushed it back and stepped inside, firmly closing it behind him.

"What's going on, Fenris?"

Fenris shook his head and turned away. "You…you would not understand."

"You're right; I don't. I thought…I thought we'd had a good day yesterday. What's changed since then? Has something happened?"

"No…" Fenris's shoulders slumped, and Hawke noticed how delicately Fenris was built without his armour on, feeling like a lumbering giant next to him, even though he was only a few inches taller than the elf.

"Allow me to dress," mumbled Fenris as he trudged up the stairs.

"Have you eaten?" asked Hawke.

"Yes," Fenris lied, not wanting Hawke fussing over him. "I will not take long."

Hawke watched as Fenris disappeared into his room, closing the door softly behind him, and he took a seat on the settee upon which he'd previously slept. Panic, confusion and anger in combination assaulted his thoughts. When Fenris had left his home the night before, it had been with a smile on his face. He'd been happy, relaxed, at ease. Had something happened to Fenris on the way home? Hawke had offered to walk him home but Fenris had declined, telling him a mage was much more at risk on the streets at night than he was. Why hadn't Hawke insisted? He quickly stood up and began to pace. If anyone had so much as _touched _him, by the Maker…

After a short while, Fenris emerged, fully-clad in his armour with his sword at his back. "I apologise for my tardiness, Hawke," he said as he made his way down the stairs with great care, pausing once or twice when he felt dizzy. "Let us go."

"You're not going anywhere in that state," Hawke told him.

"I can fight. That is why you wished me to accompany you, is it not?" argued the elf, although there was no heat in his words.

"I wanted you to come with me because…because you're my friend, and I like having you around, that's why," Hawke replied, frustration creeping into his voice. "And, because I'm your friend, I'm concerned about you. Talk to me. Did something happen to you on the way home last night? Did someone attack you? Insult you?"

"No…nothing like that happened," said Fenris quietly, staring at the floor.

"Then I don't understand. Last night…you seemed so happy when you left. We had a nice day, didn't we? Or…am I wrong?" Hawke wracked his brain, trying to recall a moment when he'd slipped up and had said something to offend Fenris. "Did I do something wrong? Please tell me, Fenris, because I'm really having a hard time figuring this out."

"You did nothing wrong," Fenris told him, his eyes still firmly on the floor.

"Then, what? Was I…was I a bit loud last night? Or was it when I told Donnic he wasn't allowed to recruit you? I was only joking, you know. I wasn't trying to speak for you, or anything. If you want to join the Guard, then you go ahead. I can't tell you what to do, nor would I ever try. It was just a joke."

"I do not wish to join the Guard, Hawke." Fenris raised his head and, as his eyes met Hawke's, the sadness in them almost stole Hawke's breath away.

"Fenris…what's the matter?" Hawke asked in an unsteady voice, and cleared his throat as the elf slowly walked over to the settee, removed his sword from his back and sat down, meshing his fingers together in his lap.

"I am not certain you would understand, Hawke."

"I don't understand _now_. I-I'm confused. I thought…I thought we had a good day yesterday."

"We did." Fenris closed his eyes and forcefully released his breath. "Yesterday was…probably the best day of my life, Hawke; at least, that I can remember."

"What…?" Utterly confused and devastated that such a seemingly-mundane day would mean so much to Fenris, Hawke turned his back on him and rubbed his face hard, feeling a hard lump in his throat.

"I…" A brief, humourless laugh escaped from Fenris and he took a deep breath. "I know that you and I quarrelled briefly, but after that…when I defeated Donnic and we went back to the barracks…he introduced me to all of his friends, who lauded my abilities. And then, you and I dined together, and we laughed, and then you invited me to your home and I dined with your family…never before have I felt so…welcome, so accepted."

Hawke, having taken a few deep breaths, turned around to face him. "Then, what's wrong?" he asked softly.

"It's…it's all a fantasy, isn't it?" asked Fenris, his voice taking on a harder edge.

"What do you mean by that?"

Fenris stood up, a scowl darkening his features, but he did not look at Hawke. "I am an elf, a former slave and a fugitive. I…yesterday, I believed, just for a short time, that…I forgot all of that, Hawke. I forgot what I was. Yesterday, I was a warrior who was admired by the city guards. I was a former slave who would learn to read; such a thing is unheard of in Tevinter. I was a friend to someone. I dined with a family and felt for a short time that I was part of that family, so welcoming were they."

"Fenris…"

"But none of that belongs to me, does it? The family is not mine. Even this house is not mine. This _life _is not mine. What is the point of teaching me to read? Sooner or later, Danarius will come for me and this…this fantasy of mine will crumble. And sooner or later, Hawke, you will pay the price for considering me a friend."

He turned and sat back down on the settee, his head in his hands. Hawke cautiously neared the settee, standing at the side of it. "May I sit with you?" he asked the elf.

Fenris made a fist with his hands and rested his chin against them. "If you wish."

Hawke took a seat on the settee, leaving as much space between the two of them as he could, not wanting to make Fenris feel crowded. "What do you mean when you say I will pay the price?" There was no accusation in his tone.

"I…when I escaped from Danarius, I was taken in by a group of Kossith rebels who called themselves Fog Warriors. They were good to me, and before long I became…attached to them. I even started to believe after a time that they felt the same about me. I remained with them for a few months, and life was good. I admired them; they were strong and answered to no one. And then…" His voice broke with his last word and he fell silent, staring at the far wall.

"Let me guess. Danarius found you?"

"He found me, but the rebels would not let him take me. There was a fight."

"What happened?"

The sadness returned to Fenris's eyes and he glanced at Hawke briefly, before his gaze returned to the wall. "Danarius was wounded by the rebels. He-he knew that he could not prevail against them, and so he ordered me to kill them."

A sickening feeling came over Hawke, then, but he did his best to keep his voice steady. "And…did you?"

Fenris's body slouched, and his hands fell limply into his lap. "I did…I killed every one of them."

Hawke blinked several times, and the rustling sound as Fenris fidgeted on the settee became almost deafening against the absolute silence that had fallen.

"Why?" Hawke asked after a while. "Why would you _do_ that?"

"It felt inevitable. My master had returned, and this-this fantasy life was over. Just as _this_ is a fantasy. Danarius will come for me, eventually, Hawke, and when he does, I do not want to think of what will happen."

"You're not a mindless puppet, Fenris; you have free will. You don't have to obey him anymore."

Fenris shook his head. "Danarius is…charismatic, persuasive. Perhaps it is a magical ability of his. I…find myself compelled to obey his commands." He once again looked at Hawke, his eyes wide. "I would not wish harm upon you, Hawke."

"I don't believe you would kill me," answered Hawke.

"Why not? I _am_ a killer; that is what he made me."

"We're _all_ killers, Fenris, and there's a lot more to you than just that. And when Danarius does come for you, I _will _be here. That bastard deserves to die twice, especially after what…" Hawke huffed and glanced over at the fireplace.

"After what?" asked Fenris.

Hawke stood up, moved over to the fireplace and stood with his back to Fenris, stroking his beard. "I…I know what he did to you."

Silence hung between them again, and Hawke heard the creak of the settee as Fenris stood up. "Perhaps we should depart. This…Sebastian is in need of our assistance," said Fenris, hefting his sword onto his back.

"I'm sorry, Fenris; I shouldn't have…"

"It does not matter," Fenris replied, and walked over to the door, holding it open. "Are you ready?"

Hawke slowly turned to face him and nodded. "Will you be all right?"

"Speaking of Danarius is curiously sobering," said Fenris flatly. "Let us go."

"Fenris, when we've finished with Sebastian, we _are _going to start your reading lessons," Hawke said firmly. "I won't take no for an answer. And that's not me ordering you to do anything; it's me being a stubborn arse."

"You are that," Fenris replied quietly, and walked through the doorway, leaving Hawke to follow. Once outside, Fenris locked the door.

Hawke walked a few feet in front of him, and, as they rounded the bend that led to the Harriman estate, Hawke said under his breath, "Taunt me all you like, bitch; I'm not letting him go. Not now, not ever."


	21. Chapter 21

After discovering that a Desire Demon had been responsible for the slaughter of Sebastian's family, and, after killing her, Fenris, Hawke and Varric accompanied Sebastian back to the chantry, as he wished to pray for the souls of the Harriman family. Before they parted ways, Sebastian compensated Hawke generously for his aid, and pledged his assistance to Hawke and his companions if ever they needed it.

Although Hawke thought that Sebastian went on about the Maker a lot, he seemed a decent enough fellow, and was deadly with a bow. Hawke asked him if he'd be interested in joining their expedition into the deep roads, and Sebastian readily accepted, promising to make himself available when the time came.

"So, what are you kids up to this afternoon?" asked Varric as they reached the bottom of the steps. He'd noticed some slight tension between Fenris and Hawke, or, if it wasn't tension, they were both rather subdued, and he'd made an effort to lighten their mood, having limited success. He'd also noticed that Fenris had appeared unsteady on his feet a couple of times, although the elf hadn't wavered when it had come to protecting them all.

"Well, firstly, I thought I'd offer Sebastian a job," Hawke quipped. "It's about time we had a decent archer in our little gang," he added with a sly glance at Varric.

"Hey, say what you like about me, Hawke, but don't hurt Bianca's feelings," answered Varric .

"I wouldn't dream of insulting Bianca," replied Hawke. "I _did _say the archer, not the weapon."

"Well, I hope you and Choirboy will be very happy together," Varric said in the easy, mellow voice he always spoke with. Hawke had never heard the dwarf so much as raise his voice, or sound annoyed. "How about you, Elf?" Varric asked Fenris. "Anything exciting on the agenda?"

Fenris, who had turned one of his feet inward and was examining it carefully, started a little and stared at the dwarf. "I'm sorry – what did you say?"

"I asked if you had anything exciting planned this afternoon?" Varric repeated, watching Fenris expectantly.

"Actually, erm…Hawke…is going to attempt to teach me to read." Noticing Hawke's head snap in his direction, Fenris turned to Fletcher but did not look at him. "I am not ashamed."

"Well, good for you, Elf!" sang Varric, unthinkingly clapping Fenris on the shoulder, who stumbled a little, quickly correcting his posture. "Sorry about that," muttered Varric, his eyes moving over to where Hawke stood.

"How about you, Varric?" asked Hawke.

"Thought I'd spend a little time with Sunshine. Actually," he said in a quieter voice, "I wanted to speak to you. Maybe later?"

"Everything all right?" Hawke asked with concern.

Varric's easy smile immediately reassured him. "Everything's perfect. Let's talk later, ok?"

"Sure, Varric." They shook hands, and as Varric turned away, Fenris called him back.

"Dwarf." Fenris took a step forward and proffered his hand, and Varric shook it, his eyebrows rising in surprise.

"I wanted to shake your hand, Elf, but I wasn't sure…anyway, you two enjoy your lesson. I'll catch you both later." Releasing Fenris's hand, he walked off, leaving Hawke and Fenris alone.

"It's great that you can shake hands with people now, Fenris," Hawke said quietly. "I'm p…well, shall we get started?"

Fenris nodded mutely and the two of them took the short walk over to Hightown Estates, a strange mood settling over them both now that Varric had gone: Fenris seemed to have no desire to talk at all, which only made Hawke feel an acute need to fill the silence with prattle.

"As you're, erm, a bit, well, _oiled_," Hawke began, "our first lesson may not quite stick in your mind as well as it normally would, so we'll repeat it tomorrow. Would that be all right? If, I mean, we had a lesson every day? It would probably be best, or, if you liked, you could take a break now and then. It's up to you, Fenris: I'm sure you don't want me hanging around you all the time."

As Fenris gave a vague nod, Hawke cleared his throat, realising he was wittering. He knew he had an uphill struggle to convince Fenris that it _was _worth learning to read, and also convincing Fenris that he was _capable _of doing so.

"We'll just start off nice and simply today, Fenris," he continued as they reached the top of the steps leading to the old mansion. As the taciturn Fenris took out his key and opened the door, Hawke had to fight off the temptation to grab Fenris's arms and shake him.

_Talk to me! Maker, Fletcher, why did you have to go and tell him that you knew? I know he knew that I knew, but…why did you have to say it? Idiot!_

"I will make some tea," said Fenris quietly as they entered. "Where do you wish to conduct the lesson?" Although Fenris now had little enthusiasm for his reading lesson, he knew that Hawke had lots, and he also knew, after talking to him the evening before, that Hawke had gone to a lot of effort to prepare, and so didn't wish to appear ungrateful.

"Erm, how about the dining room?" suggested Hawke. "That big table will come in handy, although you may want to cover it; I wouldn't want to ruin the nice polished surface."

"The table does not belong to me," Fenris said, heading for the kitchen. "Do with it what you will."

Hawke let out a long breath and waited until Fenris had gone before entering the dining room. He opened the drapes and a couple of windows. His father, who had taught him his letters and how to read, had always insisted that fresh air was healthy and conducive to learning. Hawke had no idea of whether that was true or not, but did what his father would have done, nonetheless.

Removing the small bag that was slung across his hip, Hawke opened it and took out a small stack of papers, some parchment and several sticks of charcoal. When Fenris had left his house the previous evening, Hawke had retrieved a few chunks of the charred wood from the fireplace, and had carefully broken them into small sticks.

When Fenris arrived with the tea, Hawke was sitting at the table. "You have gone to a lot of trouble," observed Fenris, setting the cups down. "You should not have…"

"We're going to do this properly, Fenris," said Hawke as Fenris took a seat opposite him. "Erm, Fenris…it would be best if you sat next to me. You don't want to learn to read upside-down, do you?"

Fenris sighed softly through his nose and stood up, bringing his tea to the other side of the table. Hawke pulled out the chair next to him, and Fenris took his seat, leaning slightly away from Hawke on his elbow.

"Right," began Hawke. "The very first thing we need to do is to teach you your letters." Remembering what his father had done when he was young, he took the small stack of papers and removed the top five pieces, placing them in a line on the table; each one had a letter of the alphabet written on them. "Today, you're going to learn the first five letters of the alphabet. I'm not suggesting that you aren't capable of learning more than that in one day, but if we keep things simple, they will be more likely to stay in your head."

Fenris glanced at Hawke and nodded.

Taking the first piece of paper, Hawke placed it in front of Fenris along with a piece of charcoal. "There are twenty-six letters in the alphabet, and this is the first, 'A'."

"'A'," Fenris repeated.

"You can speak the common language, so you should be able to name a few things that begin with 'A'," said Hawke, glancing around the room. "Can you do that for me?"

Looking uncertain, Fenris looked around briefly, coming up with nothing, and he shrugged.

"'A' can be pronounced in three different ways," Hawke told him. "There's 'A', which is a short, sharp sound; there's 'Ay', and there's also 'Ah'."

Fenris's brow creased for a moment as he thought hard. "Armour?" he asked, pointing to his chest.

"That's right," Hawke said with a bright smile. "Anything else?"

Fenris sat up straight in the chair and looked around the room again. "Armoire."

"Very good," Hawke said encouragingly. "What else?"

Fenris scanned the entire room, looking up at the ceiling and behind him, and Hawke allowed himself the small hope that Fenris was beginning to take an interest. "I cannot see anything else," said Fenris, shaking his head.

"Well, neither can I," agreed Hawke. "Try to think outside of this room. "What other things have you seen that begin with 'A'?"

"Is this really necessary?" asked Fenris quietly, defeat in his posture.

"Of course; it will reinforce the letter in your mind. Every time you look at the armoire, or your armour, you will know that they begin with the letter 'A'."

"But I already know that."

"Who's the teacher here; you or me?" Hawke teased.

"Very well," Fenris agreed with a sigh, and he rested his head on his hand as he began to think.

"'A', 'Ay', and 'Ah'," Hawke repeated.

"Apple," Fenris said after a moment, and, with an encouraging nod from Hawke, he came up with a few more examples.

"Well done, Fenris," said Hawke, hoping he didn't sound condescending. He pushed the piece of paper closer to Fenris. "That is the letter 'A'. Look at it; I want you to think of one word beginning with 'A' that you could associate it with."

"Well, as I usually wear armour, I would choose that. Is that…correct?"

"There's no right or wrong answer, Fenris; it's _your_ word. Whenever you look at your armour – if you're not in the middle of a fight, that is – I want you to think of the letter 'A' and to remember the shape of the letter, how it's formed. Can you do that?"

Fenris nodded. "I can do that."

Hawke took a piece of parchment and his own stick of charcoal. "Now, I'm going to show you how to write the letter 'A', and then, _you'll_ write it."

"Write?" asked Fenris sharply. "You did not mention writing."

"But you have to learn to write as well as read, Fenris; the two go hand in hand with each other."

Fenris stared at the small piece of paper in front of him and pushed his chair back, walking over to the window. Hawke, unsurprised, remained in his seat and took a deep breath.

"You did not say anything about writing, Hawke. I cannot do both at the same time," Fenris said irritably.

"If I'd mentioned writing as well, you never would have agreed to do this in the first place," Hawke said patiently.

"So, you know what I am thinking, now?"

"It sounds a lot, doesn't it? Learning to read _and _write? But I never would have offered to teach you if I didn't think you were capable, Fenris." Hawke turned in his chair a little, half-facing Fenris. "I'm going to make a confession, now, which may embarrass you a little, but here goes," he began. "I…sort of look up to you, Fenris."

"What?" Fenris laughed derisively.

"It's true. Not only can you speak two languages, which I can't, but you have the largest vocabulary I think I've ever heard in anyone before. I have to admit, once or twice you've said a word I didn't know the meaning of, and I've had to look it up when I got home, although I'd never have embarrassed myself by admitting _that_ in front of everyone. That word you used yesterday…knighted?"

"_Be_nighted," Fenris corrected him.

"Right, that one. I don't have a clue what that means, although I think I caught its meaning in the context of the conversation. Does it mean…stupid, or something similar?"

Fenris turned to face Hawke and sat upon the window sill. "It means…ignorant, unenlightened."

"Well, you're hardly that," said Hawke. "I meant what I said, you know; you really are the most intelligent person I know. I don't waste my time with insincere flattery. If I say something, I mean it."

"And yet, I cannot read or write."

"Which is not your fault," Hawke insisted. "Reading and writing are just basic tools. You already have the intelligence, which will make our task that much easier. You just need to work on your confidence, that's all. I know you can do this, Fenris. I wouldn't waste my time on a thicko."

"A…'thicko'?"

"Ha! I've turned the tables on you!" Hawke laughed. "I said a word that _you _don't know the meaning of." He poked his tongue out at Fenris, who shook his head and snorted softly.

"I doubt that is a word at all, but I think I caught its meaning in the context of the conversation," answered Fenris, his posture relaxing a little.

"Well then, there you go." Hawke turned back to the table and picked up a stick of charcoal. "Shall we continue?"

Hawke sat and waited for a few minutes, and eventually, Fenris sat down next to him, apparently having decided to resume. Hawke took a sip of his tea and Fenris did the same, watching as Hawke produced two small objects from his bag, both of them wrapped in clean napkins.

"Here you go," said Hawke, passing one of them to Fenris. "Something to go with our tea."

Fenris glanced askance at Hawke and then slowly unwrapped his small gift. "Cake," he said with a hint of a smile. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Hey, I haven't had anything to eat, today!" Hawke protested. "_And _I've walked up the steps. I don't think a bit of cake's going to hurt."

Fenris raised the cake to his nose and smelled it.

"It's fruitcake," Hawke explained. "There was no shortbread left. _Someone _finished it off last night."

Fenris pressed his lips together, failing to hide an embarrassed grin. "That would explain it, then. What is this?" he asked, pointing to a thin, yellow crust on the slice of cake.

"Marzipan," Hawke replied with his mouth full, crumbs falling into his lap. "It's made from almonds."

Fenris sniffed at the cake again, and took a small bite. "It's very rich," he remarked, taking another sip of tea. "I like it, but I prefer shortbread."

"You know…" Hawke cast a crafty glance at Fenris. "If you sit through this lesson with me, _and _if you pass the test at the end…"

"Test?"

"Yes, a test. You'll breeze it, Fenris. _If _you do that, I'll show you how to _make_ shortbread. It's easy, and you have everything you need in the kitchen."

"I could make my own shortbread?"

"You could make as much as you like. You could eat _nothing _but shortbread if you wanted, although I wouldn't recommend that; you'd end up as fat as me."

"You are not fat," Fenris argued, peeling the marzipan off the cake and taking another sniff at it.

"I'm at least a couple of stone over the odds, and these robes hide all manner of sins."

"Perhaps you merely need to be more physically active," suggested Fenris, taking a tentative bite of the marzipan, his eyes lighting up as he quickly took another bite.

"Well, if you also agree to have a reading lesson every day, that means I'll be walking up the steps at least once a day, which will help. So, if you refuse to have regular lessons, you'll be causing considerable damage to my health."

"You are attempting to blackmail me," Fenris accused with a mite of amusement in his voice.

"That's such an ugly word, Fenris. Tell you what, I'll sweeten the deal: I'll show you how to make marzipan, as well; you seem to like it."

"Blackmail," Fenris repeated.

"Although, we would have to purchase some eggs and almonds for marzipan; I don't think you have any of those in the kitchen," said Hawke thoughtfully.

"Hawke?" asked Fenris. "'Almonds' begins with 'A', doesn't it?"

"It certainly does," Hawke confirmed, smiling. "Now, the sooner we get this lesson, and your _test _finished, the sooner Fenris will have shortbread in his belly. Let's get started."

~o~O~o~

Having passed his test with flying colours, Fenris was led down to the kitchen by Hawke as promised. "This is the easiest thing to make, ever, Fenris," Hawke told him, assembling the ingredients together. "You need one part sugar, two parts butter and three parts flour. What could be simpler?"

"That's all?"

"That's all. Some people put spices into the mixture, but personally, I think that ruins it. You could try it, though; that's the best thing about cooking. You can experiment; make the recipe your own."

"I do not wish for the recipe to be altered," said Fenris.

"All right, then." Hawke tipped some sugar into a large mixing bowl, and added some butter. He then passed the bowl to Fenris with a fork.

"What must I do with this?"

"Just mash it all together, and when the butter starts to soften, stir it so it goes all creamy. Name me two things that begin with 'B'."

"What?"

"Oh, the lesson isn't over, Fenris; learning is a constant process, you know."

Fenris paused, and then looked at what Hawke had just passed to him. "Butter…bowl?"

"Correct. I'll go and get some flour."

When Hawke returned, he measured out some of the flour into another bowl and placed it on the counter next to Fenris. "Now that the butter's all creamy, you slowly stir the flour in. Just a bit at a time, though, otherwise you'll get lumps."

Fenris nodded and added a small amount of flour to the mixture. "While you were gone, I thought of a few more words," he told Hawke.

"Oh, yes?"

"Bread, counter, ceiling, creamy, board…chopping board? You said that the letter 'C' could also sound like 'S' or 'Tch'."

"Very good, Fenris," said Hawke proudly. "I knew you'd have no trouble with this."

"And, although we have none at present, 'eggs' begin with 'E'."

"Well, now you're just showing off!" Hawke laughed.

Fenris hung his head bashfully, and, for a moment, Hawke was seized by an impulse to clasp Fenris's chin and raise his head, and then... Instead, Hawke cleared his throat.

"So…what do you think, Fenris? Was the lesson all right? Do you think you'd like to continue?"

Fenris set the bowl down onto the counter and seemed to consider Hawke's words seriously. "Not particularly," he remarked with a slightly impish smile, "but there _is_ your health to consider."

Hawke placed his hand over his heart. "Well, I'm honoured, Fenris, that you would make such a sacrifice for the sake of my health. You have a deal. Put it there."

Hawke held out his hand and was delighted that Fenris shook it with little hesitation.

~o~O~o~

After the shortbread was made, and, after sampling several pieces of it to ensure that Fenris had 'used the correct technique', Hawke invited Fenris to The Hanged Man for a drink. Fenris politely declined, telling Hawke that he had not yet done his daily sword training. Hawke resisted the temptation to ask if he could stay and watch, and they arranged a time the following day to conduct Fenris's next lesson.

Hawke left the mansion with a spring in his step, and tried very hard to ignore a few more little nagging doubts that had planted themselves into his mind, uninvited. Not that he thought Fenris was lying, but had he used the sword training as an excuse? Did he think he was seeing too much of Hawke? Was Hawke being overbearing? Fenris _was _very polite, after all. Would he really tell Hawke that he was making a nuisance of himself, if that were the case?

There was also the thought of what tomorrow would bring. Hawke and Fenris had spent another pleasant afternoon together, which pleased Hawke immensely, but also worried him: Fenris had obviously spent a restless night going over what had happened the day before. He'd been made to feel accepted and welcome several times that day, which was clearly something he was not used to, as it appeared to have greatly disturbed him.

Something else that Hawke had noticed was that Fenris, for all of his promises to make Danarius suffer and to give him a slow death, was genuinely frightened of his former master's return, and felt powerless against him, almost fatalistically so. A heaviness settled in Hawke's stomach at that thought, and also at the thought of Fenris spending yet another night alone at the mansion. Fenris was a very capable warrior, and fought with a vigour and passion that belied his wiry frame, but could he really hold off a Magister who was possibly capable of mind control among other things, as well as his henchmen?

The heaviness in Hawke's stomach turned into a sinking feeling, and for a few moments he seriously considered returning to the mansion that night to check on Fenris and to offer him some kind of reassurance, but he knew deep down that he couldn't do that. He didn't want Fenris to feel suffocated by him, nor did he want to give his feelings away. Fenris had opened up to him that morning by telling him about the Fog Warriors, and as much as Hawke wanted to know more about Fenris's past, he knew that one thing he must not do was push too hard.

A thought occurred to Hawke as he walked along. Although he'd promised to speak to Varric, he knew that the dwarf would be at The Hanged Man later that evening, and, as Hawke was still in Hightown, he decided to make a detour to the barracks.

As Hawke hadn't made an appointment to see anyone at the Keep, he had to wait in line and had to wait again as Aveline was in the middle of a briefing. When he was finally shown to her office, she immediately apologised.

"Sorry about all the waiting, Hawke; I've told the guards at the front that your name is to be permanently put on the list. At least that way, even if I'm busy when you call, you can wait inside where it's a bit warmer."

"I've told you what to do, Aveline; just give me a key."

Aveline gave Hawke her sternest look as she rifled through several documents on her desk. "You _know _that's not going to happen, Hawke."

"Well, let me cut in line, then," he suggested cheekily.

Aveline straightened up and folded her arms.

"All right, all right," Hawke laughed. "It was worth a try. How are you getting on?"

Aveline sighed and took a seat at her desk, inviting Hawke to sit in the chair opposite. "Jevens left a right bloody mess for me. It's going to take a while to sort out; my highest priority at the moment is the patrols."

Hawke gave his best approximation of a sage nod, and fidgeted slightly in his chair. "Actually, I wanted to ask you something about the patrols," he said casually.

"Did you?" she asked.

"Yes. I was wondering how well-protected the estates in Hightown are at night."

"Hightown? Why do you need to know that? You live in Lowtown, don't you?"

"I'm just curious, that's all."

"Hawke," she said, leaning across the desk. "I can't just give out details of my patrols to just anyone, you know. Not without a very good reason."

"But I'm not just anyone, am I?" he answered with a charming smile. "Look; I'm not planning anything illegal, if that's what you're worried about."

She looked at him for a moment with slightly-narrowed eyes. "What's this about, Hawke?"

He shrugged, and then sighed. "Fenris lives in one of the houses on the Hightown Estate."

"I'm aware of that," she replied. "What's that got to do with anything?"

Hawke sat back in his chair and examined his fingers for a few moments. "I'm concerned about his safety. For the Maker's sake, don't tell him I told you that," he added quickly.

"Why, Hawke? Have you heard something?" she asked seriously, taking up her quill.

"As you don't know Fenris very well, you might not know this, but somebody's after him," explained Hawke.

"After him? Is it an authority of some kind? Because if it is, I don't think I should interfere in that, Hawke."

"Authority? No! It's someone who wants him dead, and I want to know how strong your patrols are in Hightown, all right?" he demanded with more heat in his voice than he'd intended.

Aveline held her hands up. "All right, Hawke; calm down. I need a name and a description."

"I don't know what he looks like," said Hawke, taking a deep breath. "I only know that one day he's going to come for Fenris, and he's on his own in that place." Hawke started to bite his thumbnail, and Aveline could see that he was genuinely worried.

"Who is he, Hawke, and what does he want with Fenris?"

"I'll tell you, Aveline, but this stays between us." Aveline nodded, and Hawke told her about Danarius, although he left some details out, about Fenris's markings, and a few other things he considered pertinent. "Danarius is a Magister and a blood mage. He's very powerful, and I'm just…if he ever did return for Fenris, I don't think Fenris would stand a chance. Every time I call on him, I half expect him not to be there."

Aveline sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. "Do you have any indication as to when this Danarius might show up?"

"None. It could be today, tomorrow…" Hawke stood up and leaned against the desk. "…He could be there right now for all I know." He released his breath in a sharp burst. "I know I'm asking a lot, Aveline, but I just want more of a presence in Hightown. From what I've seen, the patrols there are very few."

"There's never been much need for a strong Guard presence in Hightown," Aveline explained. "Most crime occurs in Lowtown or Darktown. Those steps certainly are a deterrent."

"Danarius won't care about the blasted steps when he comes for Fenris!" Hawke insisted heatedly, pushing himself away from the desk. He rubbed his forehead and sighed, turning back to Aveline. "I'm sorry. I'm…he's all alone there. He…I-I care about him, Aveline."

"Yes, I can see that," she replied softly. "Thing is, Hawke, would a couple of extra guards really make a difference against a powerful blood mage?"

"Oh, I don't know," Hawke said wearily, his shoulders sagging. "I don't want to place your guards in danger, Aveline, but…" He shook his head and sat back down, resting his head on his hand.

"You know, we do have a few ex-templars on the books," Aveline said thoughtfully. "They're posted in Darktown at the moment because of the apostate underground movement, just in case there's any trouble. Not that the Templars have ever discovered the movement's base…"

"Templars?" asked Hawke, his eyes widening.

"Hmm," mumbled Aveline. "I suppose they'd appreciate a change of scenery; they're not really doing any good in the Undercity, anyway; I suspect the apostates know their patrol routes like the back of their hands."

Hawke sat up straight. "You'd…you'd move them to Hightown?"

"This is a big favour you're asking, Hawke, but I can see it's important to you." She stroked her chin. "I'll have to come up with a reason for them being there, although I daresay the nobles won't complain. Mind you, the nobles _always_ have something to complain about; I think they should all spend a week in Darktown to see what _real _life is like. All right, Hawke; I'll sort that out for you."

"Oh, Aveline…I can't thank you enough, really."

"I want a favour in return, though," she insisted.

"Anything," he answered.

Aveline cleared her throat noisily and shifted in her seat a little. "I, erm…" She beckoned him closer, and he leaned across the desk, intrigued. "You'll be at the Hanged Man later, won't you?"

Hawke nodded.

"Well, I want you to, uh…you know Donnic, don't you? Yes, of course you do; you did come to the coast with him. Of course you know him. Tall fellow with dark hair?"

"Aveline, stop babbling and tell me what you want me to do."

"I am babbling a bit, aren't I? I do that sometimes, although you wouldn't think it. It's a bad habit of mine…"

"Aveline!"

"All right, all right. I…want you to invite Donnic for a drink. Tonight. At The Hanged Man."

Hawke looked confused. "Why?"

"Look; just do it, all right?"

"Aveline, if you want to ask him out for a drink, why don't you ask him yourself?"

She shrugged. "I can't, Hawke. It wouldn't be appropriate."

"Says who?"

"Says me," she insisted. "I just want to sort of bump into him, you know?"

A huge grin spread across Hawke's face. "I _knew _you were sweet on him."

"Shhh!" she hissed, glancing over to the door. "I'm not exactly sweet on him, I just want to get to know my guards better, that's all."

"Uh-huh," mumbled Hawke. "So, you want me to ask the rest of the guards out for a drink, then?"

"One at a time, Hawke," she answered, unable to meet his eyes.

"I see."

"Hawke, just tell me whether or not you'll do it," she snapped.

"I'll do it," he answered with a chuckle. "Anything to help the spirit of camaraderie amongst the guards."

Aveline smiled lopsidedly and absent-mindedly shuffled a few papers around her desk. "Thanks, Hawke."

He stood up and stretched. "Is he here?" he asked.

"No, he's on patrol at the moment in central Lowtown."

"Thank the Maker for that! I thought for a moment you were going to say he was at the bloody Wounded Coast."

"I wouldn't have put you through another walk there, Hawke," she answered with a warm smile.

"About eight bells?" he asked.

She nodded. "Thanks again, Hawke."

"No, thank _you_, Aveline. I really can't tell you how much I appreciate your help. And thanks for understanding."

"They come on duty at six bells, so I'll give them their new assignment then. I think they'll be quite pleased, actually."

"You're the best, Aveline. I guess I'd better go and find Donnic, the first person on your…list," he said with a wink. "I'll see you later."

"I'll be there, Hawke," she promised, and saw him out of the office.


	22. Chapter 22

On his way out of the Keep, Hawke was distracted by a commotion at the top of the stairs in the main reception hall. A harried-looking Seneschal Bran was surrounded by several rough-looking types, all of whom wanted his attention at the same time. Hawke wondered how they'd been granted entry into the Keep in the first place, and, his curiosity getting the better of him, he moved a little closer, standing at the foot of the stairs.

From what Hawke could gather, the rough types were mercenaries, either individuals or groups, and all seemed to be vying to secure a job on behalf of the viscount, with some of them offering bribes to the clearly-disgusted Bran.

"The Viscount's office will not grant exclusivity to any one party," Bran told them haughtily, fanning his hand in front of his face, presumably because of the pungent smell of sweat and beer that hung around the top of the stairs. "The reward will be paid to the first person, or persons, to bring back the Viscount's son alive and _safe_. You will _leave_, now."

The mercenaries, finally getting the message, began to depart, and, as some of them glanced at their rivals, their pace increased as they neared the foot of the stairs where Hawke stood. One woman who looked in need of a good bath bumped Hawke's shoulder as she barged past.

"Guardsman Braddock," Bran called from the top of the stairs, and one of the guards at the door stepped forward. "See these…_people _out."

"Come on, you lot!" commanded Braddock, and Bran, who by now looked quite pale, took a clean handkerchief from his pocket, pressed it over his nose and mouth, and turned toward his office.

"Seneschal Bran?" Hawke called out, taking the stairs two at a time to catch the administrator before he disappeared. Bran stopped, turned around slowly, and shot Hawke a look of pure disdain.

"Yes?"

"I couldn't help hearing something about the Viscount's son and a reward. I might be interested in helping," Hawke offered.

Bran shook his head. "There are quite enough of…your kind already involved in this matter. Your _help _is not required." He turned on his heel and strode toward his office.

"Oh, fair enough," Hawke said brightly. "Guess I'll see you the next time you go to the clinic. With that…_problem_ of yours that seems to keep cropping up. Farewell!" Hawke also turned on his heel and started down the stairs, hearing a slight choking sound from behind him.

"One moment," Bran said.

Hawke bit back a laugh and put on his most solemn expression as he turned around. "Yes?" he asked, echoing Bran's patronising tone.

Bran took a few steps forward, uncertainty in his narrowed eyes. "You are the one who assisted acting Guard-Captain Vallen, are you not?"

"_Am_ I?" asked Hawke with exaggerated innocence.

Struggling to restrain himself in the face of this impudent upstart, Bran folded his arms and stretched his lips into an insincere smile. "Perhaps someone with a little more…class is called for in this matter."

"And what matter would that be?" asked Hawke.

"The Viscount's son, Seamus, has…misplaced himself. His last known whereabouts were somewhere along the coast. The viscount has not ruled out foul play. The swift and safe return of his son is imperative."

"I'll need a description of him," said Hawke, and Bran provided him with one. "Any idea where on the coast he'd be?" Hawke asked.

"No. Perhaps you could ask the people who have just left? I'm certain you would find them _most_ helpful," Bran offered sarcastically.

"That's very decent of you," Hawke replied with equal sarcasm. "And I'm sure you'll find Anders _most_ helpful the next time you have your little _problem_."

Bran shifted uncomfortably and his false smile turned into a grimace that made the man look constipated, and Hawke sailed down the steps, grinning from ear to ear. Knowing that other parties would also be attempting to rescue Seamus, Hawke decided to gather as many of his friends together as possible, and returned to the mansion to call on Fenris.

After Hawke had knocked and waited for a short time, Fenris opened the door; he'd obviously been in the middle of some intensive training, as he was covered in sweat, and his hair hung in damp strings around his face. He had removed his breastplate, and wore only leggings and a thin white shirt, which was soaked through and clung to the contours of Fenris's chest, offering a tantalising glimpse of dark nipples beneath. For a moment, Hawke completely forgot what he was going to say, and stood staring at Fenris with his mouth open.

"Something wrong, Hawke?"

Hawke blinked. "Oh, no…I-I'm sorry to interrupt your training, Fenris, but a big job's just come up, and I wondered if you wanted in? It's on behalf of the viscount, so it should pay well. I know I said I'd see you tomorrow, and I didn't want to disturb you again, but I didn't want to leave you out, either."

"Must we leave immediately?" asked Fenris, pushing his damp hair out of his eyes.

"As soon as possible."

"I would like to change, first," said Fenris.

"Of course. Tell you what, I'll run to the chantry and see if Sebastian wants to come along. Meet me there when you're ready?"

Fenris arched an eyebrow. "You are going to _run _to the chantry?"

"Well, there's no need to be like that!" Hawke laughed, and Fenris smiled lopsidedly. "I'll _walk _very quickly to the chantry, then."

"That sounds more realistic," remarked Fenris, and, as he closed the door, a beaming Hawke strolled over to the chantry, but not before taking a few very deep breaths.

Sebastian agreed to help, and he and Hawke waited for Fenris in the square. When Fenris arrived, they went to Lowtown and called in at the Hanged Man, hoping to find Varric or Isabela; unfortunately, neither of them were there. Remembering that Varric had said he was going to spend some time with Bethany, Hawke decided to leave them to it. Their next stop was the alienage, where a very eager Merrill joined them, and finally, they travelled to Darktown in the hope that Anders would be free.

Upon entering the clinic, Anders was tending to a woman with a minor injury, but appeared to have no other patients. When he'd finished treating her, Hawke introduced him to Sebastian and explained the job, asking if he was free to help out.

"All right, Hawke…the coast, you say?" Anders took Hawke aside so the others couldn't hear. "There's a series of tunnels beneath Darktown, one of which leads to the coast. It's just that, well, it's part of the _underground_," he whispered. "We _can_ use it, but I don't want the others knowing what it's used for."

Hawke shrugged. "They don't need to know, do they? It's just a tunnel."

Anders grinned and relaxed a little. "Thanks, Hawke. It should shave a bit of time off the journey, and it would mean that we don't bump into those mercenaries on the way."

"That's a great idea, Anders," said Hawke, and the two of them joined the others. "Anders knows of some tunnels that will take us directly to the coast. They'll be dark, though, and there will probably be a few rats about. Anyone have a problem with that?"

"Rats?" Merrill exclaimed, aghast. "Eww. I don't know if I fancy that."

"Between you and me, Merrill, I'm not over-fond of them, either," Hawke told her with a wink, and she smiled nervously.

"Well, I don't mind rats," said Anders, "I'm used to them, living down here, and I'll need to go in front, anyway. Hawke, I suggest that you take the rear, and we can both light up the tunnel. Merrill, you can go in the middle, if it makes you feel better."

Merrill, surprised that Anders was being friendly to her, smiled a little. "Oh, well, that's very thoughtful of you, Anders. Yes, I'd like to do that, if it's all right with everyone else?"

Her male companions nodded. "I will walk behind you, Anders," volunteered Sebastian. "If there are any rats ahead, I'll pick them off with my bow," he said with a kind smile at Merrill.

"I think that's settled, then," Hawke said, pleased that for once his companions seemed to be getting on well, and he made a mental note to take Sebastian along on future jobs, as he had fitted in well and seemed very amicable.

Anders extinguished the lamp that hung outside the clinic, indicating that he was out, and he led the group to a secluded corner of Darktown. "This is where we need to go," he whispered, pointing to a wooden trapdoor. He glanced around and raised the hatch, lowering himself down. "We'll have to crouch for the first hundred yards or so, but it opens out after a bit." As Anders bent down and disappeared into the tunnel, a faint white glow followed him as he produced light with his staff. Sebastian went after him, followed by Merrill, Fenris, and finally, Hawke, who closed the trapdoor behind him.

"Ooh, this is proper spooky," Merrill muttered as soon as the hatch was closed. Hawke struck the ground with his staff, and a faint halo of light appeared around him to match that of Anders's.

"Better, Merrill?" he asked, summoning a wisp and instructing it to stay close to her.

"A bit. Thanks, Hawke."

"The tunnel will open out in a little while," Anders called from up ahead.

"Fenris," whispered Hawke, and the warrior turned his head back a little. "Name me something beginning with 'D'."

"Dark," Fenris answered immediately, and Hawke chuckled.

"Now, name me something beginning with 'B'."

In the dim light, Hawke noticed Fenris's shoulders shake a little, and the elf nodded. "Blackness?" he guessed.

"Very good!" Hawke joked. "Well, that's me out of ideas."

Fenris laughed quietly, and Hawke watched as the pale light reflected off Fenris's white hair, noticing how soft it appeared to be. And, although Hawke had never noticed any discernible odour to Fenris before, due to their close proximity, Hawke occasionally caught the faint tang of fresh sweat from the elf, following his training session. Something stirred inside of Hawke, deep in the pit of his belly, and he took a slow, deep breath, his grip on his staff tightening.

"I have one," ventured Fenris. "Something beginning with 'C'."

"Are you two playing 'I spy' back there?" asked Sebastian.

"Something like that, yes," answered Hawke, shifting his focus back to the game. "'C', eh? Hmm. Let me think…"

"Cold," Merrill guessed.

"Incorrect," answered Fenris.

"Cavern? Cave?" asked Anders.

"No. Your time is running out."

Hawke grinned to himself, delighted to see Fenris joining in with the others. "Hang on, Fenris! Give us a bit longer."

"Cramped," Sebastian ventured.

"You are correct, Archer," called out Fenris.

"Aw,_ I_ was about to say that!" moaned Hawke.

"Too late, my friend," Sebastian teased.

"It's opening out, now," Anders told them, and they all straightened up as they emerged into the main tunnel.

"All right, I have another one," said Hawke. "Something else beginning with 'D'."

"Dangerous. Depressing. _Doomy_," stated Merrill.

"'Doomy' isn't a word!" asserted Hawke.

"Actually, I believe it is," Fenris corrected him.

"All right, Mr. Smarty-Pants with the huge vocabulary," Hawke sniped.

Once again, Fenris's shoulders shook a little, and Hawke laughed along with him. "Well, whether it's a word or not, which it _isn't_, it's not the one I want."

"It_ is _a word," Fenris uttered quietly, and smiled as Hawke harrumphed from behind him.

"I'm turning left," called out Anders, and the rest of them followed him.

"My feet are getting wet," Fenris said. "I know what your word is: 'dank'."

Hawke didn't answer.

"Well? Am I correct?" asked Fenris, turning back to face the mage.

"No," Hawke answered quickly, looking dead ahead.

"Oh? And which word _were_ you thinking of, then?" asked Fenris sceptically.

"I'm not telling you that until you guess correctly," Hawke answered with a shifty glance at the elf.

"I believe I already _have _guessed correctly," stated Fenris. "You are attempting to stall me so that you can think of _another_ word beginning with 'D'."

"How _dare_ you," Hawke accused, his laughing eyes betraying him. Fenris affected a disappointed expression and shook his head, a brief smile dancing across his face as he turned away.

"Actually, the word I wanted was…'dim'," claimed Hawke.

"Bollocks, it was," Anders muttered from up ahead.

"_Please_, serah; there is a lady present here," Sebastian scolded him.

"Oh, right. Sorry."

"What does 'bollocks' mean?" Merrill asked innocently.

"Over to you, Sebastian," said Anders.

As Sebastian spluttered out a refusal to speak of such matters in front of a lady, a faint hissing sound could be heard from the rear of the group as Hawke tried unsuccessfully to stifle his laughter with his hand. "Sorry, Fenris. I neglected to mention that word during our lesson; you _were _learning the letter 'B', after all."

"And glad I am of it," Fenris replied drily.

"Well, now you _do_ know it," said Hawke. "So, every time you look at your…" He sniggered and cleared his throat. "Well, I'm sure you'll remember it, anyway."

"Childish. _Very_ childish," remarked Fenris, his shoulders trembling a little as he faced away from Hawke.

"Well, if _I'm_ childish, then so are you; you _are _laughing," Hawke retorted.

"I am doing no such thing," claimed the elf.

"Take no notice of them, Sebastian," joked Anders. "They don't get out much, and they get a bit overexcited when they do."

"I know exactly how they feel!" agreed Merrill effusively. "It _is _exciting to go out, isn't it?"

Hawke failed to hear what Merrill had said as Fenris turned back slightly and cast an amused glance at him before once again facing forward, causing Hawke's stomach to somersault.

~o~O~o~

By the time Hawke's group had exited the tunnels and located Seamus, they realised they were too late. From their hiding place among the dunes they spied a young man matching Seamus's description surrounded by one of the gangs Hawke had seen at the Keep. Seamus was on his knees next to the body of an enormous warrior, and the woman who'd looked like she needed a bath stood next to him, with half a dozen men standing watch.

"What in the Creator's name is _that_?" asked Merrill, meaning the fallen warrior.

"It's a Qunari," Anders answered quietly.

"Indeed," agreed Fenris. "He is presumably one of the Tal'Vashoth; namely, one who has turned his back on the Qun."

Although Hawke had seen a Qunari before, in Lothering, the rest of Fenris's sentence was lost on him, but he nodded anyway. Merrill, however, made no such pretence at understanding.

"What the bloody hell are you going on about, Fenris? What's a Qunari?"

"They are heathens," opined Sebastian. "Their kind has been at war with the Chantry for ages. A Qunari contingent arrived in Kirkwall only recently, but, so far, their intentions are unclear."

"They are a proud warrior race," offered Fenris. "Whatever your opinion of their beliefs and values, that fact cannot be denied."

"I certainly would not deny that, Fenris," Sebastian answered.

"Well, what shall we do now?" Hawke asked the group. "They've won fair and square; looks like we've wasted our time."

"Wait, Serah Hawke," said Sebastian. "That woman appears to be threatening the young lad."

Sure enough, as Hawke turned his attention back to Seamus, the grubby-looking woman cuffed the boy around the head and waved a dagger at him.

"That's the Viscount's son, Hawke!" Anders said angrily.

"Looks like we'd better step in, then. Sebastian, Merrill, Anders, spread out and keep yourselves hidden until you're needed. Fenris, come with me."

As the others began to spread out as instructed by Hawke, Fenris turned to him. "You should also conceal yourself, Hawke; you are not sufficiently protected."

"Sorry, Fenris; I'm not letting you face them on your own."

"I will not be alone," argued the elf. "I have dealt with many of their kind before; I do not fear them."

"I_ know_ you don't fear them, but even _you_ would struggle against half a dozen of them. It only takes one arrow; remember that night at the coast? That was too close, Fenris."

"You would be better placed to prevent any attacks upon me from a concealed position," Fenris insisted with a hard edge to his voice.

Hawke shook his head. "No; I won't allow you to go in alone unless you let me protect you."

"You will not _allow _me?" snapped Fenris with a scowl. "Who do you…"

"Fenris, I'm _not _arguing about this."

The two men stood staring at one another, neither of them prepared to back down. From the corner of his eye, Hawke spotted Anders's head bobbing over the top of the bush he was hiding behind, as another argument broke out between Seamus and the woman who was threatening him.

"You vashedan bitch! What did he ever do to you? My father will hear of this, and when he does…"

"Just get going, you snotty little shit!" the woman ordered him, pointing the dagger at his chest. "I couldn't give a rat's arse what your father thinks, so long as we get our money!"

"Hawke, _do_ something!" Anders hissed from his hiding place.

Hawke, his eyes still locked with Fenris's, folded his arms. "Decide quickly, Fenris; time's wasting."

"Pertinax Asinus!" growled Fenris, his scowl deepening.

"Asinus? Are you calling me an arse?"

"I am calling you a stubborn ass!" hissed Fenris. He growled again and pinched the bridge of his nose. "How will you protect me?" he snapped.

"Just a quick spell; one that will increase your awareness and your resistance to injury."

"Do it quickly, then," demanded Fenris with displeasure, "but do not touch me."

Hawke stretched one arm out toward Fenris and placed his other hand over his eyes, whispering something to himself. Fenris immediately felt his skin tighten, and all of his senses became heightened; he could hear Hawke's breathing, could see the fine pores on his face, and could smell the soap he'd used that morning.

"It's done," Hawke told him, removing his hand from his eyes.

With a final withering look at Hawke, Fenris turned and walked into the clearing where Seamus and the woman were still arguing.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" demanded the woman.

"Release the child," commanded Fenris, and the woman and her lackeys burst out laughing.

"Please, Ser Elf," pleaded Seamus, "these thugs killed my friend." Fenris glanced down at the dead Qunari and raised an eyebrow. "And now they're going to claim some sort of reward for finding me. They cannot be rewarded for murder!"

"They will _not_ claim their reward," Fenris said with a cold smile, readying his sword.

"And you're going to stop us on your own, are you, you knife-eared bastard?" challenged the uncouth woman.

"He's not on his own, you stupid cow!" called Merrill from behind a dune.

"Spread out!" the woman commanded, and her lackeys looked around in confusion, not knowing in which direction to spread out.

"Paralyse them!" ordered Hawke.

As Anders, Merrill and Hawke began casting, Sebastian shot a warning arrow that glanced off the woman's boot. She immediately grabbed Seamus and held a dagger to his throat. "Back off!" she snarled as Fenris began to circle her.

"You will not harm him," sneered Fenris as the woman's lackeys were turned into statues by the three mages, and Sebastian emerged from his hiding place, an arrow trained directly between the woman's eyes.

"You won't even have time to blink if I release this arrow," he threatened. "Now, unhand the boy at once."

"Hoy! That's our bounty!" called a voice from further up the path, and immediately, all eyes turned in its direction; all eyes, that was, except for Fenris's.

"Shit! Another group of mercenaries has arrived!" guessed Hawke. "Merrill, come on; you and I will take care of them. Anders, Sebastian, stay with Fenris!"

As Hawke and Merrill ran up the path, Fenris took advantage of the woman's distracted attention and lunged at her, sending Seamus sprawling to the ground. She staggered and slashed wildly with her dagger, inflicting a severe gash to Fenris's cheek.

"Run!" Fenris commanded Seamus, who scrambled to his feet and darted for cover. At the same moment, an arrow whistled through the air and pierced the woman's shoulder; she yelled in pain and dropped her dagger, falling to her knees.

Sebastian immediately nocked another arrow and strolled into the clearing, followed by Anders, who renewed the paralysing spell on the thugs. "Fenris, are you all right?" asked Sebastian.

Fenris touched his cheek and glanced down at his bloodied hand, rubbing the crimson liquid between finger and thumb, a murderous glint in his eyes as he began to charge up the path.

"Fenris, that needs to be healed!" protested Anders, to no avail.

"Holy Andraste!" exclaimed Sebastian as Fenris's markings blazed. "What-what's happening to him?"

"It's a unique ability of his," said Anders with a shrug. "Don't worry; the others will be quite safe now he's gone to help them. Keep an eye on this lot," he instructed Sebastian as he walked over to where Seamus had hid to check the boy for injuries.

"Anders…can you do something for this woman's pain?" asked Sebastian. "I know she attacked us, but she's suffering."

"In a minute," called Anders as he beckoned Seamus out. "We need to tie them up, first."

As Sebastian looked around the makeshift campsite for rope, a loud cry from up ahead pierced the air as two hearts were ripped out of their chests, and then silence fell. After a few moments, Hawke, Merrill and Fenris entered the clearing, and Merrill ran over to assist Sebastian secure the thugs, leaving Hawke and Fenris to continue with their bickering.

"I _need _to take a look at that, Fenris!"

"It is fine. The bleeding has almost stopped."

"It'll scar if it's not healed immediately, Fenris, just…"

"Then it will scar."

Hawke gasped in astonishment. "And you call _me _stubborn?"

"You _are _stubborn!"

"Pertinax Asinus!" spluttered Hawke, and Fenris came to a dead stop, one eyebrow slowly rising as he glanced at Hawke.

"You remembered."

"Of course I remembered, Fenris; it's a perfect name for you!"

"I used it first," Fenris said quietly.

Hawke placed his hands on his hips, his mouth twitching with mirth. "_Now_ who's being childish?"

"I see only one person, Hawke."

"I could throttle you sometimes, you know that?"

"Is that a healing technique of yours?"

Hawke started to snigger, and Anders - who, having checked Seamus over and had begun to heal the bound leader of the mercenaries – watched them with interest.

"A special technique, just for you, Fenris," Hawke laughed. "It's a cure for _stubbornness_. Now, let me see to that cut on your face."

A look of uncertainty came over Fenris, then, and he glanced over at the rest of their companions.

"Fenris, when are you going to get it into your head that I'm not going to hurt you?" Hawke asked gently.

Fenris sighed and walked a short distance away from the group, and Hawke followed him.

"I do not believe that you would injure me on purpose," Fenris told Hawke when they were out of the others' earshot.

"What is it, then?"

Fenris looked down at his feet and shrugged. "Magic…magic causes me pain."

"What?"

Fenris looked back up but averted his eyes when they met Hawke's. "Whenever magic is cast upon me, it reacts with my markings. Danarius…Danarius often used magic upon me as a means of control. Even healing magic is painful."

Hawke's face dropped. "Shit, Fenris; why didn't you say something?"

Fenris shrugged again. "Clearly, you were not going to back down. Action needed to be taken to aid the boy, so I acquiesced."

Hawke clutched his forehead and closed his eyes. "Fenris…I'm so sorry. I had no idea."

"Of course you had no idea; I had not told you."

Hawke took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Does…does healing magic cause you a lot of pain?" he asked Fenris. "Because that cut really does need to be healed. I…wouldn't want you to have a scar."

"It does not cause as much pain as other spells, no, but it is still uncomfortable."

"Will you let me heal you, Fenris? I promise to be as quick as I can." Hawke tilted his head slightly and imagined Fenris with a huge, ugly scar running across his cheek, the thought of which sickened him. "That face of yours shouldn't have a scar on it."

Realising what he'd said, Hawke released the breath he'd been holding and turned away from Fenris, expecting a strong reaction from the elf.

"If you are quick, then."

Hawke's heart hammered in his chest as he turned around, and he fumbled in his small pack for a clean piece of cloth and a small jar of purified elfroot extract with which to clean the wound. "It needs to be cleaned, first," he said quietly, unable to look at Fenris as he moistened the cloth with the clear liquid.

"I will do that," offered Fenris, and Hawke passed him the cloth, toying with his fingers while Fenris dabbed at the cut until the blood was removed from his face.

"I, um…I need to touch your face, Fenris,"

Hawke heard a sharp intake of breath, and Fenris nodded but did not speak.

"Ready?"

Fenris nodded again, his eyes glued to the ground, and Hawke raised a slightly-trembling hand to Fenris's face, gently resting his fingers against the elf's cheek. Hawke closed his eyes and sternly reminded himself that he was a healer and that he must act professionally, although his need to run his hand through Fenris's hair and claim his lips almost consumed him, and his stomach burned fiercely as those two needs warred within him.

"Here goes, Fenris."

Swallowing hard, Hawke opened the Fade and banished all other thoughts from his mind as he concentrated. Warm, soothing energy flowed from his fingers onto Fenris's skin, and Hawke willed the flesh to close, picturing it in his mind. After a few seconds, he heard a quiet hiss from Fenris and doubled his concentration, determined to cause Fenris as little discomfort as possible.

Hawke retracted his hand with great effort, almost feeling as though it was magnetised with Fenris's skin. He blinked his eyes open and stepped away from Fenris, whose gaze remained upon the ground.

"Was that all right, Fenris?" he asked anxiously.

Fenris raised a hand to his face and stroked his cheek. "It was…fine. Thank you," he said in almost a whisper, and headed back to the clearing, leaving Hawke with almost-liquefied insides.

~o~O~o~

After a long journey back to the Keep, Hawke and his friends turned the mercenaries over to the city Guard, and collected a generous reward for Seamus's safe return from the Viscount himself. Hawke gave everyone a cut, keeping a few sovereigns back for the kitty as he always did.

Remembering that Varric wanted to speak to him, Hawke asked the others if they'd like to join him at The Hanged Man, and all of them accepted except Fenris, who again politely declined but didn't give a reason.

As the exited the Keep, Fenris looked at Hawke and quietly cleared his throat.

"Erm, you lot carry on; I'll catch you up in a bit," Hawke told the others.

"What are you drinking, Hawke?" Sebastian asked.

"Whatever you're having," he replied with a grateful nod.

"I don't drink alcohol, Hawke."

"Of course you don't," Hawke laughed. "I'll have an ale, then, thanks."

"Ale it is," said Sebastian, and he, Merrill and Anders walked away, although Hawke was aware that Anders's gaze had lingered on him for a few seconds before he'd departed.

"Everything all right, Fenris?" asked Hawke, and, not knowing what to expect, his belly fluttered.

"I have been thinking," began Fenris. "This morning, when I told you about the Fog Warriors…" He paused, searching for the right words. "You reacted in a way I did not expect."

"How so?" Hawke asked.

"Well, you…did not react at all, or at least, you appeared not to," Fenris said thoughtfully. "I had expected you to react with fear or disgust, but you did neither; I was…surprised."

"I don't believe it was your fault, Fenris."

"I took their lives," insisted Fenris. "Their blood is on my hands." He shook his head as Hawke began to protest again. "What I am trying to say…you did not judge me. What I did was shameful at best, and yet, you…you…did not reject me."

"We've all done things we're not proud of, Fenris; I'm no exception."

"Perhaps," Fenris mused quietly. He looked up at Hawke, although he didn't quite look directly into his eyes. "I…wanted to thank you. You have proved to be a good friend to me, Hawke."

Hawke smiled softly. "Well, I'm honoured that you consider me a friend. You can…you can talk to me about anything, you know."

Fenris nodded and straightened his posture. "Well, I shall see you tomorrow, for our lesson?"

"Are you sure you don't want to come for a drink?" Hawke offered.

"I am not one for crowds," Fenris said with a thin smile. "Perhaps another time."

"I'll hold you to that."

"Of that, Hawke, I have no doubt." In a gesture that touched Hawke each time he did it, Fenris held out his hand and Hawke shook it warmly.

"See you tomorrow, Fenris," said Hawke as he released the elf's hand. "I hope you sleep well."

"You, as well, Hawke." With a single nod, Fenris turned and walked away.

Hawke watched him until he was out of sight, and sighed to himself, a little reassured that at least there would be a Guard presence in Hightown that night. After waiting for a few more minutes, he began to walk in the opposite direction, the feel of Fenris's skin against his replaying in his mind over and over again as he walked along.


	23. Chapter 23

_From this point in the story, I'm lucky enough to have the incredibly talented author, Shakespira, on board as beta reader. If you haven't checked out her works so far, I urge you to do so. You'll find her on my favourite authors list. Thank-you to Shakespira, as well as to all of you for lurking, alerting and for your kind reviews and PMs._

~o~O~o~

By the time Fenris had returned to the mansion, the sun had begun to set and the property was in semi-darkness when he entered. Locking the door, he let his head fall back and rotated it several times, allowing his tense muscles to relax. He then proceeded to perform a sweep of the mansion, as he did each night before retiring, starting on the lower level.

When Varric had fitted the lock to the front door, he'd taken a tour of the mansion with Fenris and had offered several suggestions on improving security. The windows in several rooms that were not currently in use were firmly locked, Varric smearing the catches with an acidic coating which would badly burn any intruders coming into contact with it, even when it had dried. Another suggestion that Varric had made was to coat all of the door handles with a fine dusting of flour, and to leave a small line of it outside each internal door; that way, it would be obvious if any doors had been opened without Fenris's knowledge, and the flour would leave a trail of footprints.

Thankfully, none of the flour had been disturbed, and, after completing his check, Fenris walked over to the fireplace in the main vestibule of the mansion. He always kept a fire lit there; not for warmth, but to save him the task of constantly having to rekindle the fire for candles, which was a time-consuming and sometimes painful process: the constant striking together of two pieces of flint made his hands hurt and sometimes caused them to seize up.

He took a few candles from atop the mantelpiece, lit them, and set them down again before throwing a few faggots of wood onto the fire. He then began to close the drapes around the mansion; first in the dining room, then the vestibule. Finally, he took one of the candles up to the room at the top of the stairs where he spent most of his time and closed the door, setting the candle down on a small table.

In one corner of the room sat his bathtub, towels and soap; he'd already drawn water from the well and filled the tub before he'd begun his training session earlier, and the water was as cold now as it had been then.

Removing his sword and breastplate and setting them down, he moved to the window and looked out over the square, as he also did each night. Routine was important to Fenris: not only did it keep him disciplined, but it also helped him to remember. The thought that all traces of his life up until three-and-a-half years ago were gone forever was something that Fenris did his best not to dwell on, as the very thought of it troubled him deeply. Without his memories, he had no identity besides that of being a slave. What kind of a person had he been before he'd received his markings? Had he been a good person? Had he been evil or cruel? Had he ever loved anyone or had anyone loved him? Did he have a family?

His new circle of – acquaintances? – spoke of their past so easily, so casually. Anders often told of his time at the Circle in Ferelden and his life on the run; Hawke and Bethany reminisced about when they were children and their time on their farm in Lothering. The only person he didn't really know anything about was the dwarf, Varric, but then, _nobody _seemed to know anything about him. In some ways, the dwarf was the person Fenris felt most at ease with; the others had no idea how difficult it was for Fenris to hear them speak of their families, their friends, their past. Although Fenris always listened to their tales politely, he found he had nothing to bring to those conversations, which only exacerbated his feelings of isolation and of being at odds with everyone else.

He found Hawke to be easy company as well as Varric, but in many ways, Hawke made him feel more confused and lonely than anyone else did. Although he and Hawke didn't always see eye-to-eye, Fenris had to admit that, during the few weeks he'd known the mage, he'd laughed and smiled more than he'd done in the preceding three years. Hawke was a very confident person – or at least he appeared to be – who made friends very easily. Fenris wasn't, and, although he admired Hawke's ability to fit in with most people and into most situations, he also found that very quality a little intimidating.

Hawke was also a very generous man who took care of his friends and family. That much had been evident from their first meeting, although Fenris had at first suspected Hawke's motives. And now, only a short time later, Hawke was teaching him to read, and bringing him small gifts of food; he'd also been behind Varric improving the security of the mansion.

Hawke had also listened to Fenris's confession about the Fog Warriors without judging him. That had been the first time Fenris had spoken of it to anyone. Fenris found Hawke very easy to talk to, and that was no doubt one of the reasons Fenris had confided in Hawke, although if he was honest with himself, he'd also wanted to gauge Hawke's reaction. Surely all of this generosity on Hawke's part must mean he wanted something in return? So, he'd decided to tell Hawke one of his darkest secrets, fully expecting the mage to show his true colours and react with the disgust that Fenris felt he deserved.

Hawke, however, had not shown his true colours. Or had he? Was this kind, thoughtful and understanding Hawke the _real _Hawke? When Hawke had listened to his tale earlier that morning, the answer had been so clear; Hawke's soft voice and kind eyes had convinced him, albeit for a short time, that Hawke understood and accepted him. And, when Fenris had called Hawke a friend, he'd meant it. When Fenris was with Hawke, everything seemed clear, straightforward.

It was when Hawke wasn't around, though, that Fenris felt confused. It was when Fenris returned to the empty, chilly mansion each night that uncertainty would settle over him. Hawke was no longer there, and his comforting words seemed a distant memory. Fenris had been alone and had learned to do without others for so long that he wore his loneliness as a shield, something that would always be there for him and would never let him down. Lately, though, that shield had begun to feel uncomfortable, cumbersome, like it no longer fitted properly.

Something else that Hawke had said had given Fenris pause. Hawke had vowed to stand at Fenris's side and help him put an end to Danarius when the time came, despite the fact they were both mages. Had Hawke really meant that? Didn't all mages stick together? Fenris then cast his mind back to the time at the coast when Hawke had turned the blood mages over to the Templars, despite fierce opposition from Merrill and Anders. Perhaps Hawke really did judge others by their actions, and nothing else? Was it about time Fenris did that? _Could _he do that?

Although Fenris now had a friend – at least someone who _appeared _to be a friend, Fenris still felt out of place pretty much everywhere he went. How could he _not_ feel out of place, when he had no identity, when even _he_ didn't know who he was? Would he ever feel settled? Would he ever find somewhere he could call home? Would he ever really be free?

With a sigh, he closed the drapes and began to undress. Until he'd met Hawke, the shirt and pair of leggings he wore had been the only ones he'd owned. Now, though, thanks to his regular earnings, he'd been able to buy a few more from a trader in the alienage, and could now afford to pay a woman in Lowtown to launder his clothes: a small decadence he allowed himself.

Although his clothes were dirty, he still folded them carefully, placed them on the back of a chair, and walked over to the bathtub. He eased himself in, hissing as his bottom made contact with the frigid water. Slowly, he lay down in the tub and let the water lap over him, shuddering until he became accustomed to the temperature. He still felt an echo of Hawke's magic lingering along the edges of his markings, which the water eased a little. He reached for the soap and worked up a thin lather in his hands; not an easy task in cold water. When he'd finished soaping himself he splashed cold water over his body and heaved himself out, shivering as he wrapped a towel around his shoulders.

After drying himself, he sat on the foot of his bed and placed his right foot on his left knee. This was the foot he had the most trouble with for some reason, and, as often happened, the heel had cracked and was bleeding; thankfully, the skin on the soles of his feet was so hard he felt little pain. Although all clothing he wore caused him some discomfort, he'd found it impossible to wear boots or any kind of footwear since receiving his markings; it was just too painful for his feet to be confined for long. As a result, he was forced to go barefoot, and had to check his feet constantly for cuts or scratches.

Lying down on the bed, he reached over for a small jar of ointment he kept on his night stand. He sat back up and opened the jar, scooping out a little of the gloopy substance and smearing it on his heel. He used a lot of this ointment, which had antiseptic properties and stopped the bleeding; he'd learned the formula from the Fog Warriors, and was now able to make his own.

He allowed himself a wry smile. Hawke, who always travelled with a veritable apothecary of potions and ointments in his pack, would no doubt find it ironic that Fenris made his own ointment. He then looked down at the small jar and thought of the Fog Warriors, as he did frequently. Allowing grief and shame to wash over him, he sighed, stood up, and looked down at the bed.

Ever since receiving his markings, Fenris hadn't slept for more than an hour or so at a time. Either his markings would begin to hurt after a while, or he'd be woken by nightmares; well, memories, really, of his time with Danarius and the Magister's apprentice, Hadriana. Also, he'd been conditioned to rise early, and, no matter how tired he was, he could not get back to sleep after a certain time. He both welcomed and dreaded bedtime; sometimes his slender body felt close to collapse, and he'd want nothing more than to crawl into bed, but, more often than not, the very act of sleeping was exhausting in itself.

He looked at the bed again, and decided he couldn't face it just yet. He walked over to his dresser and retrieved a clean shirt and pair of leggings, and, once dressed, he strapped his breastplate on and picked up his sword. He then made his way to the front door of the mansion, hesitating for a moment. With a glance up at his room, he thought of his bed again, shook his head, and opened the door, locking it behind him.

~o~O~o~

Fenris paused outside the Hanged Man for a few minutes and nodded to some of the regulars who greeted him on their way out. Although they didn't know him, they were sure they'd seen him somewhere before so erred on the side of politeness, as did Fenris.

When they'd gone, Fenris, still not really sure what he was doing there, took a deep breath and entered the pub, lingering in the doorway as he scanned the room. To his relief, he couldn't see Isabela or Anders anywhere, but neither could he see Hawke or Varric. Realising he was in the way of a few more punters who were on their way out, he turned to leave.

"Fenris? Did you change your mind about coming?"

He turned to see the archer from the chantry approaching him. "Sebastian," he said with a nod.

"Are you coming in?" asked Sebastian, arriving beside him.

Fenris smiled awkwardly and glanced around the packed room. "I, um…perhaps not. I am not certain why I came."

"For a drink, I assume," said Sebastian with a chuckle. "Come on; my shout. What do you drink? Ale?"

"No," Fenris replied quickly, remembering what had happened when he'd sampled Bethany's ale. "What is that you have, there?"

Sebastian raised his mug. "Oh, this? Ginger beer. A _real _man's drink," joked the archer. "This'll put hairs on your chest, Fenris."

"That is unlikely," Fenris answered with a smile, feeling a little more at ease.

"Are you here to see Hawke?" asked Sebastian, leading Fenris over to the bar. "He's over in the corner with Varric; I think they're discussing something private, so I left them alone. I've been getting to know some of the regulars in here; they're quite an interesting bunch."

Fenris nodded, his eyes wandering over to a small table in a corner where Varric and Hawke appeared to be having a serious discussion.

"What'll it be then, Fenris?"

"Um, red wine, please," replied the elf.

As Sebastian ordered his drink, Fenris continued to watch the dwarf and mage at the table, wondering what they were talking about. He then turned away and shook his head, scolding himself. It was none of his business.

"Here you go, Fenris." Sebastian passed Fenris his wine, who nodded in gratitude. "So, tell me a little about yourself, Fenris; we didn't have an opportunity to talk earlier, except during our game of 'I spy'."

"There is not much to tell," Fenris said modestly. "I am not very interesting."

"I understand from Hawke that you're a former slave who escaped from his master," said Sebastian. "I'd say that was _very_ interesting. You must have quite a story to tell."

Fenris hesitated, and Sebastian shook his head. "Forgive me, serah; I did not mean to pry."

"No, it is all right…you are not prying. It's just…"

"I understand," said Sebastian with a small bow. "You came here to relax. My apologies once again, Fenris. I will not speak of it again."

Feeling a little guilty, Fenris was about to tell Sebastian that he didn't mind discussing it, just not here, when his attention was diverted by someone calling his name from the entrance. Fenris turned and nodded as Donnic squeezed his way through the crowd to the bar.

"Fenris! Don't often see you here of an evening," said the guard, reaching for Fenris's hand and shaking it.

"Good evening, Donnic." Fenris turned to Sebastian. "This is Donnic, of the city Guard, and this is Sebastian…" Fenris paused, not knowing Sebastian's family name.

"Vael," finished Sebastian, reaching for Donnic's hand. "Good to meet you, serah."

"You, as well," replied Donnic, quirking an eyebrow. "Vael, you say? You're not one of the Starkhaven Vaels, are you?"

Sebastian laughed easily, but didn't answer Donnic's question.

"Have it your way, then," said Donnic good-naturedly. "Have either of you seen Hawke? He's the one who asked me here."

"He's over there with Varric," Sebastian explained as Donnic called for a pint of ale. "They shouldn't be much longer. Why don't we see if we can find a table?"

Fenris and Donnic nodded their agreement, and, drinks in hand, they made their way through the throng.

~o~O~o~

"So, let me get this straight…" Hawke put on his sternest expression and folded his arms. "You want to take my sister, my _baby _sister, to that stretch of the coast where all the canoodling couples go?"

"Oh, Hawke, you make it sound so sordid," protested Varric. "I just wanted to…look; the only places I ever take her are on jobs where we wind up killing people – lots of 'em – or _here_. I just wanted to take her somewhere different, that's all. And don't all the girls go in for that moonlight and stars crap?"

"Why are you asking me? What makes you think _I _know what girls like?"

Varric rolled his eyes. Although he knew Hawke was teasing him, he played along. "All right, then, smart ass; you must know what your own sister likes."

Hawke shrugged. "I suppose she would appreciate that. What_ I_ want to know, Ser Dwarf, is what your intentions are."

"Get outta here! You know me better than that, Hawke."

Hawke's lips twitched into a half-smile before he affected a solemn expression. "Very well; you have my permission to escort my sister to the coast. Just…don't take her on a Tuesday, that's all."

"Why's that, Hawke?"

Hawke grimaced a little and leaned forward on the table. "Tuesday is…_men's night_. And they don't go there for the moonlight and stars, I can tell you. Just something I…_heard_."

"_Heard_, huh?" Varric asked knowingly, and Hawke started to laugh. "Gotcha, Hawke; Tuesday nights are out, then." Varric took a deep breath and also leaned a little closer to Hawke. "Well, now we've gotten that out of the way, I wanted to ask you something else; something serious."

Hawke frowned a little and took a gulp of ale. "All right, Varric, what's on your mind?"

"Well, with all the money you've brought in lately, the kitty's getting pretty full; we have thirty-five sovs, now, Hawke, so it won't be long before we can take it to Bartrand. Ha! I can't wait to see the look on his face when he sees _you've _gotten the money together, after he rejected you!" Varric then sighed and his face dropped slightly. "What I want to know, Hawke, is…are you planning on taking Sunshine along?"

"No," Hawke answered immediately, and Varric exhaled, easing himself back into his chair. "We've discussed this with Mother. Bethany wants to go, but it's too risky for both of us to go. We don't want to put Mother through the worry, and we just don't know what we'll find down there. She's disappointed, but she understands.

"I've already decided who's going; well, sort of. You and me, obviously; Anders, as he's a warden, and Sebastian. I'm hoping Fenris will come as well, but I haven't asked him, yet. I'm not asking Isabela or Merrill; I don't want _any_ women going into the deep roads. Anders has told me a few stories. I wouldn't let Bethany go down there irrespective of her being my sister."

"I'm not sure I _want_ to hear those stories, but…thanks, Hawke. I know you didn't do it for me, but, well, thanks, anyway. I didn't want her going down there, either."

Hawke stood up and grabbed their empty tankards, knowing that prolonged conversations of a serious or emotional nature made Varric uncomfortable. "My round, then. Get the cards set up; I'll even ignore your cheating, tonight."

"I don't _need_ to cheat, Hawke," Varric chortled. "Even a blind man wouldn't need to cheat against you."

"All talk, these dwarves," Hawke shot back, shaking his head. "I thrashed you last night, and I intend to do so again tonight."

"That was a fluke," Varric muttered as Hawke left the table, grinning.

Hawke pushed his way through to the bar, and, while he waited for his drinks, he took a look around the lounge, wondering when Donnic and Aveline were going to show; _if _Aveline was going to show, that was. He also wondered where Sebastian had got to; he knew that Anders and Merrill had left after having a couple of drinks, but as far as he knew, Sebastian was still here.

It didn't take long for Hawke to spot him; his distinctive armour made him stand out. Paying for his drinks, Hawke carried them over to the table where Sebastian sat with two other people. As Hawke emerged through the crowd, his heart jumped in his chest as a shock of brilliant white hair caught his eye.

Firmly suppressing an idiotic smile, Hawke forced a casual expression and plonked himself down at their table. "Fenris? You changed your mind?" he asked.

Fenris, who was by now much more relaxed, shrugged his shoulders. "Well, you did say you would hold me to my promise. I thought I would save you the trouble of goading me," he said with a hesitant smile.

Hawke's face lit up before he reminded himself where he was, and, leaving the tankards on the table, he stood up. "Hold on, I'll bring Varric over. We're getting a card game set up, and it'll be better with more people; you have a bigger table, anyway."

"Erm, Serah Hawke?" asked Sebastian, touching Hawke's arm. "Will you be playing for money? If so, I'll sit this one out; I don't gamble, you see. I'd be quite happy to watch."

"Well, we usually play for money, but we don't _have_ to," he replied with a shrug, "although I daresay Varric will have something to say about that. I'll be back in a sec. And stop calling me 'serah'."

Sebastian smiled and dipped his head, and the three men shuffled their chairs along a little, with Donnic taking an empty chair from a neighbouring table for Varric.

When Hawke arrived with Varric, the dwarf grinned wickedly and rubbed his hands together. "Ah, fresh meat for Tethras to feast upon!"

"We're playing for fun tonight, Varric," Hawke told him as they took their seats, Varric sitting next to Sebastian, and Hawke in between Varric and Donnic. Fenris was sat between Donnic and Sebastian.

"_Fun_?" the dwarf spluttered. "Where's the fun in that?"

"Look at it this way, Varric," said Hawke, "this way, you won't be skint at the end of the night."

"Ha!" scoffed Varric.

Hawke briefly glanced over to the entrance, by now convinced that Aveline wasn't going to show. "Do you all know how to play Brag*?" he asked the others.

Sebastian nodded, and a slightly evil-looking grin appeared on Donnic's face. Fenris glanced around at the others and fidgeted in his seat.

Hawke stood up again. "Donnic, swap seats with me. Fenris and I will play together. I'll not have you bastards fleecing him."

Donnic burst out laughing, got to his feet and changed seats with Hawke, so Hawke now sat next to Fenris.

"I see Hawke's started trash-talking already," Varric observed.

"Yes," agreed Donnic. "Sign of nerves, that is. Who's going to deal?"

"Sebastian," Hawke said, passing the deck to the archer. "I don't trust you two," he told Donnic and Varric with narrowed eyes, and the guard once again laughed.

As Sebastian began to deal, Hawke quietly explained a few basic rules to Fenris. "We'll get three cards. _Don't _show them to anyone else. The aim of the game is to get the best combination of cards, but that doesn't necessarily mean you'll win. You also have to outwit your opponents. Just watch a few hands being played, and I'll explain as we go along."

"We need _something_ to bet with, Hawke," said Varric. "You can't teach him the game without him learning the intricacies of placing a bet."

"Hmm," mumbled Hawke, reaching into his pocket. "All right; I have two sovereigns in change, here. I'll share it out, but I get it back at the end of the game."

Varric also reached into his pocket and removed some change, sharing it out amongst the others, so each player had a total of eighty silver. "Same deal for me," he told them.

"Are we going to have a pot?" asked Donnic. "How about five silver?"

The others nodded and each placed five silvers at the centre of the table.

"This is the pot," Hawke explained to Fenris, pointing to the small pile of coins. "We all put a little money in, which will increase the amount that is won at the end of the hand."

Fenris nodded and watched as the others examined their cards. Hawke picked up their cards and showed them to the elf. "I'll explain the value of the combinations at the end. What you must _not _do is let the others know how good or bad your cards are. If you get a good hand, don't smile, and if you get a poor hand, don't frown. Just look at those beautiful faces," he said with a grin, waving his hand around the table. "Completely inscrutable; even jolly old Sebastian."

"I believe I understand," Fenris said quietly.

"We're going to _destroy_ them," boasted Hawke, and Fenris laughed briefly, looking around the table for a sign of laughter from the others, finding none. This was clearly a serious business.

"I'm in for five," said Sebastian, throwing a coin into the pot.

"We're in." Hawke also added a silver to the pot.

Donnic shook his head. "Pass."

Varric grunted and added a silver of his own to the pot.

"Can we pause for a minute while I explain this to Fenris?" Hawke asked the others, who nodded. "Everyone except Donnic has placed a bet. Why do you think Donnic passed?"

"Perhaps he has a poor hand?" guessed Fenris.

"That could very well be the case," Hawke agreed. "On the other hand, he could have the best cards out of all of us. This is what I meant by outwitting your opponents, Fenris; Donnic may be bluffing."

"So, he could have a very good hand, but is attempting to convince the others that it is poor?"

Hawke nodded. "Or, it _could_ be a genuinely bad hand. Isn't that right, Donnic?"

Donnic's eyes briefly flitted over to Hawke and Fenris, but his expression remained unchanged.

"This is an intriguing game," Fenris said, leaning forward slightly.

"It certainly is," Hawke concurred. "Ready when you are, Sebastian."

"Ten," Sebastian said confidently, placing his bet.

"Now, this is interesting," Hawke told Fenris. "Sebastian has increased the amount of his bet; he's upped the ante. If someone has upped the ante, no one is allowed to pass in that round. If we want to stay in the game, we'll have to match the bet." Hawke picked up ten silver and placed them into the pot. "I'll see you, Chantry Boy," he taunted humorously.

Donnic growled and threw his cards onto the table. "I'm out."

Fenris glanced at Hawke and smiled. "Donnic was _not _bluffing."

"No, he wasn't," laughed Hawke.

"I'll see your ten," said Varric, "and I'll raise you five."

"A _very _confident showing from the stumpy-legged one," Hawke teased. "He's upped the ante even further."

"But _he _may be bluffing, also," guessed Fenris.

"You're getting the hang of this," Hawke said brightly, before he was distracted by Aveline entering the pub. Their eyes met briefly, and then Aveline shook her head, making a hasty exit.

"Shit," Hawke muttered. "Fenris, I'll be back in a minute." He stood and leaned down, cupping his hand over Fenris's ear, catching the scent of soap on his skin. "We have a really, _really,_ terrible hand," he whispered to the elf, and, as he reluctantly pulled himself away, his hand briefly brushed against Fenris's hair, which really was as soft as he'd imagined, and he hoped Fenris couldn't hear his heart battering against his chest.

Fenris nodded, keeping his expression as blank as the others', as Hawke handed him the cards and made a dash for the exit.

As Hawke burst through the doors, he spied Aveline disappearing around a corner and went after her. Fortunately, she was wearing her armour and so couldn't run very fast. Hawke quickly caught up to her and grabbed her arm, stopping her.

"Hawke, _don't_," she said tersely, coming to a halt.

"Aveline, what's going on? I asked Donnic along as you wanted; he's in there, you know."

"I know. I-I just don't have time tonight, Hawke; I'm needed at the barracks."

Hawke folded his arms and snorted in disbelief. "Do me a favour, Aveline. If you were that busy you wouldn't have had the time to walk here from the Keep, would you?"

Aveline's shoulders sagged and she hung her head. "I can't do it, Hawke. I've been thinking about it, and…it's too soon. After Wesley, I mean."

"But it's been almost eighteen months since Wesley died," Hawke said softly.

"Sixteen months and four days, to be precise," she replied. "That's no time at all."

"Says who?" argued Hawke. "Is that really how you feel, Aveline, or is that how you _think _you should feel?"

"Does it make a difference, Hawke? You're still grieving for Carver, aren't you? You still miss him, don't you?"

"Of course I do, but that hasn't stopped me from living my life. Neither of them would want us to stop living, Aveline; your own words."

She moaned softly and leaned against a wall in the alley where they stood. "When I walked in there, Hawke…I saw him. I saw Wesley on the face of every single man in there. I just couldn't do it."

Hawke went over and leaned against the wall beside Aveline, and the two of them were silent for a short time.

"Perhaps it is a bit soon, then," ventured Hawke. "Give it time. Donnic will still be there when you're ready."

"Unless he gets snapped up by someone else before then," whined Aveline.

Although Hawke had suspicions to the contrary, he didn't voice them. "There are plenty more fish in the sea," he counselled. "I'll do a deal with you: if you and I are both still single when we're old and grey, _I'll _marry you. You'll just have to do without the sex bit, that's all; although we'll probably both be too knackered to even think about that."

"Careful, Hawke," she warned. "I might take you up on that."

"Just come in for one drink," he gently urged.

"No, Hawke. I'd better get back." She faced him and smiled. "Thanks for…well, for putting up with me."

"I've got to look after my fiancée, haven't I?" he joked, and she laughed.

"Is…Donnic all right in there? He's not twiddling his thumbs, is he?"

"Actually, he's being thrashed in a game of Brag. Speaking of which…" His eyes widened. "Shit, I've left Fenris on his own in there! That Varric's a real shark. I've got to go and rescue him. Are you going to be all right getting back?"

Aveline cocked her head and gave Hawke a mock-stern look.

"Of course you'll be all right; you're Captain of the Guard. Fiancée. Looking after," he muttered as they walked back to the Hanged Man.

"You're a good sort, Hawke," she told him with a smile, and she sighed.

"You'll be ready one day, Aveline, and when you are, I'll be right there to challenge Donnic to a duel for stealing my bride." He clasped her shoulders and kissed her on the cheek.

Aveline waved him off. "You'd better get back in there and make sure Fenris hasn't been swindled."

"Crap! I forgot about that!" Hawke spluttered, hastening toward the entrance. "Talk to you soon!"

Aveline shook her head and began the long walk back to the barracks, smiling softly to herself.

By the time Hawke stepped back inside and reached the table, the game was clearly over, as Sebastian was shuffling the cards, and his friends' previously-stony faces had reverted to normal.

"Who won?" he asked, taking his seat.

"I did," Fenris declared with a twinkle in his eye.

"What? How did you manage that?" exclaimed an overjoyed Hawke. "Our hand was bloody terrible!"

"I…out-bluffed the dwarf," Fenris said quietly, doing his best to look modest, but failing badly. Hawke had to steel himself not to sling an arm around Fenris and plant a smacker on the top of his head, so proud was he.

"Beginner's luck," groused Varric sourly.

"Nonsense," Donnic argued, turning to Fenris. "You, my friend, have the stoniest face I've ever seen, and the wits to go with it. You'll have to come down to the barracks on a Friday night, when we play."

"Oh, no you don't, Hendyr," Hawke asserted. "You've already tried to recruit him. You're not having my lucky elf!" He stopped himself then and shot a nervous glance at Fenris, and was immensely relieved to see that Fenris was laughing.

"You do realise, Elf, that the rule Hawke and I have is that the winner buys the next round?" Varric teased.

"Is this true?" Fenris asked Hawke.

"I'm afraid so," Hawke answered apologetically.

"I do not mind," said Fenris, pushing himself to his feet. "I am a gracious victor." Hawke stood and allowed Fenris to squeeze past him.

"I'll give you a hand," Sebastian offered, also rising, and he walked over to the bar with Fenris. "You must be glad you came in, now, Fenris?"

Fenris leaned against the bar and glanced over at the table, just in time to see Hawke, who'd been watching the elf with a smile on his face, turn away and start talking animatedly to Varric.

"I am glad, yes," he answered with a smile of his own. "Perhaps I will do so more often."

_*Brag was a card game that originated in medieval Britain, the rules of which are similar to modern-day poker. I may, however, have taken a few liberties with the rules. ;)_


	24. Chapter 24

_My sincere thanks again to Shakespira and to all of you following the story._

~o~O~o~

Since he'd ensconced himself in Danarius's mansion, Fenris had established a daily routine that he rarely deviated from. He always rose before the sun, ate, trained and performed his ablutions. Everything was always in place for him. His clothes were laid out in his room, his cup and plate were always in the same place in the kitchen, and his towels and soap were always left next to his bathtub, along with two buckets, which he used to empty and fill the tub. He knew precisely how many trips to the well he needed to make for his bathwater, and exactly at what time he would need to refresh the fire in the vestibule.

Fenris's routine was one aspect of his life over which he had total control; one of the few things he owned besides his sword and his clothing. Only on a handful of occasions had he allowed his routine to slide: the times when, alone and fearful for his life, he'd turned to alcohol to stop the walls of the mansion from closing in on him, to silence the inner voice that told him he was worthless, to obscure the memories and stop the nightmares.

He'd let his routine slip last night, as well, but not for any sinister reason. After spending an enjoyable night with Hawke, Varric and the others, he'd returned to the mansion feeling light in body and spirit, and, after completing another security check, he'd retired, deciding he would empty and refill the bathtub, and select his clothes, in the morning.

Having done this, and following another sweep of the mansion and a small breakfast of tea and toast, he took his sword and went downstairs to the main reception area of the mansion, where there was ample room in which to perform his exercises, and began with some basic defensive stances.

Training first thing in the morning was a recent change to his routine. Previously, he'd trained in the afternoon or evening, but, following a discussion with Hawke, the two men had agreed to conduct their reading lesson at eleven bells each day; unless, that was, they were on a job. As Hawke had no work today, Fenris wanted to be ready for when he arrived.

Moving onto his repertoire of attack moves, Fenris decided that the wingback chair in the corner would be his 'opponent'. Most of the furniture in the reception area was by now covered in notches and slashes, all except for the settee that Hawke had once slept upon. He walked over to the chair, moved it away from the wall, and began his moves. He'd not yet opened the drapes in here, as any passers-by would no doubt think him insane for sparring with a chair. Not that he cared what others thought, but he had no wish to draw unnecessary attention to himself, particularly as it appeared that the Guard compliment in Hightown had increased since Aveline's inception as guard-captain.

Stopping for a short rest, Fenris dashed sweat out of his eyes and took a few deep breaths. This was the second day in a row that he'd started to tire earlier than he usually did during his training session; he wasn't sure why, as the weather hadn't been particularly warm recently. In fact, he'd felt tired in general lately, although that hadn't been due to lack of sleep: he never slept well, and had always managed to get by.

He resumed his routine, only to have to stop after a few minutes. He straightened up and once again wiped the sweat from his brow, leaning on his sword. Why did he feel so exhausted? He _had _stayed out quite late playing cards with Hawke and Varric, and had probably imbibed a whole bottle of wine, but wine had little effect on him, unless he drank so much of it he passed out.

He steeled himself and once again took up his sword, determined to finish his training. After only a short time, however, he was once again forced to stop. Throwing his sword at the chair in frustration, he held his hands up to his face; they were trembling and his arms felt weak. Perhaps training first thing in the morning hadn't been such a good idea, after all? Deciding to re-attempt his training after Hawke had left, and when he'd had a little more to eat, he left his sword where it was and headed upstairs to take his bath.

~o~O~o~

Feeling a little more lively after his bracing bath, Fenris busied himself around the mansion and left briefly to purchase a few groceries, arriving back a short time before Hawke was due to arrive. He went to the kitchen and put some water on to boil for tea, and then made his way back to the vestibule, as he wouldn't hear Hawke's knock from the kitchen, and sat on the window sill, waiting for him to arrive.

Hawke arrived slightly early, and Fenris watched as the mage strolled across the front courtyard and paused outside the front door. Hawke appeared to take a deep breath, and he smoothed down his hair and straightened his robe. He seemed nervous. Fenris released a soft sigh. It was understandable that Hawke would be slightly apprehensive, particularly as the last time the two of them had shared a pleasant day, Fenris had reacted in a negative way the following day.

Well, today was going to be different, he decided. He would greet Hawke politely and would put him at ease. Whatever Hawke's motives, if he had any, he was giving up his own time to do Fenris a service, so the least Fenris could do in return was be civil to him.

Hearing Hawke's distinctive knock, Fenris remained where he was for a moment, not wanting to appear too eager, and slowly walked over to the door, opening it as he heard Hawke clearing his throat.

"Good morning, Hawke," he said pleasantly.

"Fenris! Name me something beginning with 'B'," Hawke said breezily, pointing at the elf.

Fenris dipped his head a little, feeling bashful but also secretly pleased with himself. "Brag master," he said, repeating Hawke's new nickname for him following his victory over Varric the night before. "Come in," he invited, stepping aside to let Hawke in. "I have put some water on for tea; I will go and make it."

"Any biscuits?" Hawke asked cheekily as he entered.

"I will see what I can find," Fenris replied, although he knew he still had some of the shortbread that he and Hawke had made.

"I'll go and set up then, _Fenners_," Hawke said with a snigger before quickly disappearing into the dining room.

Fenners. That was another nickname he'd been given by Donnic after they'd had a few drinks. Fenris laughed softly to himself as he made his way to the kitchen. He really had enjoyed himself last night, and found himself looking forward to tonight. Donnic had insisted that Fenris play cards at the barracks with him, and the guard and Hawke had launched into a mock argument, culminating in a race to drink a pint to decide the issue, with Donnic winning.

Donnic had also invited Varric and Hawke along to the barracks, although Varric had declined as he'd planned to take Bethany out tonight. Fenris was relieved that Hawke would be going with him; although he knew Donnic, he didn't know any of the other guards and felt more comfortable that someone else he knew, a friend, would be going with him.

Having made the tea, he placed the cups onto a tray, along with some shortbread, and carried it through to the dining room. As he entered, his arms once again felt weak, and he placed the tray down carefully next to Hawke, who looked up at Fenris, frowning.

"Fenris, are you all right? You look hot. I mean…warm, flushed." Hawke tilted his head slightly and stood up. "Are you running a temperature?"

Hawke was a healer, and it would have made sense to tell him that he felt off-colour, but what would Fenris say? That he felt a little tired, a little warm? Hawke would laugh at that, surely.

"I am quite well, thank you," said Fenris, taking his seat. Hawke watched him for a little while longer before taking his own seat next to the elf.

"Are you sure? Your face is all pink," Hawke said with concern, instinctively reaching for Fenris's forehead.

Fenris backed away a little and Hawke retracted his hand with an exasperated sigh. "I am certain," Fenris replied politely. "Shall we begin?"

"All right, then," Hawke answered slowly; a little defensively, Fenris felt.

"The kitchen is rather warm," explained Fenris, not entirely dishonestly. "I appreciate your concern."

Hawke nodded, apparently having accepted Fenris's explanation. "What we're going to do is recap yesterday's lesson, and then today you're going to learn your next set of letters. Is that all right?"

"Of course." Fenris felt his spirits sag a little. Hawke had been so vivacious when he'd first arrived, and was now being polite, wary. Did Hawke know Fenris was lying? Hadn't Fenris once told Hawke he detested dishonesty?

Hawke suddenly sat back in his chair and folded his arms. "You _can_ tell me, you know, Fenris; there's no shame in feeling unwell."

Taken aback, Fenris hesitated.

"Tell me what's wrong," Hawke insisted.

"It…it's nothing," Fenris said quietly.

"I'll be the judge of that. Now, tell me."

Fenris shrugged and clasped his hands together on the table. "I just feel...warm, that's all."

Hawke swivelled in his seat, facing Fenris. "Has this just come on today?"

Fenris shook his head. "Do not trouble yourself over this. I am certain it will pass."

Hawke glanced down at Fenris's hands, noticing that he was clasping them so hard his knuckles had turned white. "Fenris…will you let me examine you? I don't-I don't have to _look _at you, if you know what I mean, but I would have to touch you."

Fenris gulped, feeling heat wash over him. "What would an examination entail?"

"Well, I _would_ need to touch you; that way, I can detect if anything abnormal is going on in your body. It's not a spell, exactly, but it's an ability I have. I have no idea whether it would cause you any pain or not, though."

"I don't think that will be necessary. If it worsens, I will inform you," Fenris replied.

"Fenris, your face is _red_," said Hawke impatiently. "Something's obviously wrong. You're not going to be a stubborn arse, are you? Are we going to argue about this?"

"I am _not_ going to argue with you, Hawke." Fenris's reply was polite, but firm.

"Well, neither am I, but…" Hawke glanced at Fenris and knew he wouldn't win the argument. He couldn't force Fenris to be examined. Instead, he held his hands up in front of him and started to remove his papers from his pack. "I give up," he muttered quietly.

Fenris, feeling dejected and guilty, slouched in his chair. Although he no longer suspected that Hawke would harm him, he had no intention of allowing Hawke to examine him. When Hawke had healed Fenris's face at the coast, there had been an intimacy to the mage's touch, and attention, that had both frightened and repelled Fenris. What had really dismayed Fenris, though, was when Hawke had completed his spell and had begun to move his hand away, Fenris had almost asked him to keep it there. He had no idea why; he'd gone so long without physical touch that his body seemed to crave it sometimes, and there was no way he was going to allow Hawke to see that. He would not make a fool of himself for anyone.

Hawke was very quiet as he arranged his papers, and Fenris ventured a quick glance at him. He wore a mask of blandness and nonchalance. Fenris, knowing Hawke to be anything but nonchalant, realised he'd hurt his feelings and felt his stomach twist with guilt.

"Hawke…I apologise if I've offended you," Fenris offered. "I did not mean to…"

"You haven't," was the immediate, slightly brusque reply. "Shall we get started? There's somewhere I need to be in an hour's time."

~o~O~o~

That _somewhere _turned out to be the Hanged Man, where, after the lesson, Hawke sat on his own and nursed a pint of ale, staring moodily at a wall. He hadn't invited Fenris to join him this time, but he had arranged to meet him in Hightown later that night for their card game at the barracks. He didn't really feel like going, now, but a promise was a promise.

Fenris _had _hurt his feelings. The whole I-don't-trust-a-mage-enough-to-let-him-touch-me routine of Fenris's, as well as the constant ups and downs between them, were becoming tiresome and draining. Hawke knew he was being unreasonable, as Fenris, of all people, had good reason to distrust mages and to fear their touch, but hadn't Hawke done everything he could to make Fenris comfortable, to put him at ease? Why didn't Fenris trust him, yet? Would he ever trust him? Was there any point in trying anymore?

Hawke threw a few coins onto the table and left the pub, not really sure where to go. He couldn't go home as his mother would be there, and she would instantly know that something was wrong and would want to _talk_. He couldn't visit Anders at the clinic as Anders would also see that Hawke was troubled and would cheer him up. Hawke didn't _want _to be cheered up. He was feeling sorry for himself, and when he felt like that, he believed he was perfectly justified in going off somewhere on his own for a sulk. Where, though?

The docks. He didn't know anyone there, and he found a nice quiet spot on the quay, where he sat in between some old crates and watched a ship being loaded. After a while, he ceased to notice the stench of rotting fish and let his eyes wander over to the sea, his vision gradually blurring and coalescing with the haze of the sun. Occasionally, his stomach growled; again, he'd skipped breakfast, and hadn't touched any of Fenris's shortbread, but today he liked how empty the pit of his stomach felt.

~o~O~o~

Hawke did eventually go home once his bout of self-pity had passed. He helped his mother with a few chores and prepared supper, for which Varric and Bethany joined them before their trip to the coast. Leandra had privately asked Hawke a couple of times if he was feeling well, as he seemed rather quiet. Hawke laughed off her concerns, telling her he'd had a late night, and put on a jolly façade during supper. As eight bells approached, however, the familiar roiling and churning of his stomach started.

"So, you'll be off soon with your friend, Fenris?" Leandra asked him with a waggle of her eyebrows. "You've been spending a lot of time with him lately, haven't you?"

"He has indeed," Bethany agreed, smiling slyly. "Maybe the two of you will be taking a stroll of your own along the coast, soon?"

Hawke shook his head briskly. "No. We're just friends, nothing more."

"Are you sure, Brother?"

"Quite sure."

Excusing himself from the table, and with a light-hearted warning to Varric to keep his filthy dwarven hands where his sister could see them, he kissed his mother and sister goodnight and left the house, almost bumping into Fenris on his way out, who stood outside the door.

Hawke stared at him, confused for a moment. "I…thought we were meeting in Hightown?"

"The sun has begun to set," Fenris told him, pointing at the darkening sky. "It is not safe for you to travel through Lowtown alone."

As Fenris turned and headed down the steps, Hawke shook his head and flung his hands in the air in complete bewilderment. When Fenris reached the bottom of the steps, he turned toward Hawke, who was still stood next to the door.

"Do you still wish to go to the barracks with me?" asked Fenris.

"Yes…" Hawke sighed and walked down the steps, staying slightly behind the elf as he walked on. Noticing that Fenris appeared flushed, as he had earlier, he considered asking Fenris if he was feeling better, now, but part of him was still sulking and he didn't want Fenris to know that, nor did he want to get into an argument.

"How are you feeling, Fenris?" Hawke squeezed his eyes shut and cursed inwardly as the words escaped his mouth without his permission.

Fenris paused, allowing Hawke to catch up. "I am well, now, thank you."

"Your face is red again," Hawke observed.

"It's a warm night."

"It must be; you're also sweating."

Fenris wiped his brow but said no more, and the two of them walked through Lowtown, exchanging occasional banal remarks. There was still a degree of tension between them, but neither man cared to acknowledge it, and they reached the Keep in rather a sombre mood.

The guard at the doors had been apprised of their arrival, and he waved them through without a word. When they reached the barracks, Donnic and a few other off-duty guards greeted them enthusiastically and ushered them into a side room.

"Will the two of you be playing together again tonight?" Donnic asked them after the introductions had been made. "Fenris is new to the game, but he's a natural," he explained to his colleagues.

"I don't know," said Hawke warily with a shrug. "It's up to you, Fenris. We'll be playing for real money, tonight."

"I would welcome your counsel, Hawke," Fenris said, half-smiling.

They all took their seats, and, after some banter, the first game began. Although Hawke continued to instruct Fenris on the rules and intricacies of the game, and joined in with the soldiers' ribbing of each other, Fenris felt there was something different about Hawke, tonight: he seemed distracted, distant, but almost imperceptibly so.

After a few hands had been played, though, Hawke seemed to relax a little, as did Fenris. Nevertheless, Fenris felt certain that he was responsible for Hawke's slightly inhibited mood, and intended to speak to Hawke in private at the end of the game.

The end of the game, however, came sooner than they'd anticipated when Varric and Bethany unexpectedly arrived at the barracks.

"Sorry to interrupt your game, fellas," said Varric, entering the room.

"How did _you_ get in here?" Donnic teased, and as Bethany also stepped into the room, the men all rose to their feet.

"It's something called _charm_," Varric answered with a smirk. "I just wanted a quick word with Hawke and the elf. Won't take long."

Hawke and Fenris stood and walked over to them, and for a moment Fenris felt the weakness return to his arms and legs, but didn't draw attention to it. Nevertheless, Hawke shot him a glance, probably aware that Fenris had started to perspire again.

"Aren't you two supposed to be smooching on a beach or something?" Hawke asked Bethany and Varric.

"Yeah, we _were_," Varric replied. "We just ran into a little trouble on the way. Rest assured, though, Hawke, that I turned it into a business opportunity. Could be some decent money in this for us, if you're interested."

Hawke and Fenris exchanged a puzzled glance. "Go on," Hawke prompted.

"We ran into this dwarf, name of Javaris Tintop. He and his men were being attacked by spiders, so we stepped in. Turns out, he's doing a job for the Arishok; the guy in charge of the Qunari. This Arishok character wants some rebels destroyed, or something. What were they called…?"

"The Tal'Vashoth?" Fenris asked.

"Yeah, something like that. Anyway, Tintop is looking for some people with more skill than his own men, which wouldn't be hard, believe me. I told him we'd help out, for a price, of course. Ten sovereigns, Hawke. Whadd'ya say?"

"How many of these Tal'Vashoth are there?" asked Hawke.

Varric shrugged. "Who can say? Thing is, we need to go pretty soon. Tintop told me that the Tal…whatever they are, move around all the time. We'll lose them if we don't take care of this now."

Hawke, surmising that the Fog Warriors must have been Tal'Vashoth, turned to Fenris. "How would you feel about this?" he asked the elf.

Fenris thought for a moment before answering. "If the Arishok has indeed ordered the elimination of the Tal'Vashoth, then someone will profit from it, and it may as well be us. I must confess, however, that…" He paused, once again deep in thought.

"Fenris, you don't_ have_ to come along for this," said Hawke. "And, if you have any major objections to this, then we won't do it at all."

"But Hawke," Varric protested, "the elf just said that we may as well profit from this."

"Fenris has known Qunari in the past," explained Hawke, but didn't elaborate. "This may not be as straightforward for him as it is for us."

"Did this dwarf seem trustworthy?" Fenris asked Varric.

"That, I can't say, Elf. He was quite insistent that he get this job done, and quickly."

"He didn't want to keep the Arishok waiting," interjected Bethany. "He did seem quite genuine, although there's no way of knowing for certain."

Fenris nodded thoughtfully. "I cannot imagine anyone would be foolish enough to risk incurring the Arishok's wrath by making assumptions on his behalf. I will go with you."

Hawke beckoned Fenris away from Varric and Bethany. "Are you sure, Fenris?" he asked. "I don't know if you're up to this; do you think I haven't noticed that you've been sweating buckets all evening?"

Fenris knew that Hawke was right; as the evening had gone on, Fenris had felt more and more uncomfortable, but he nodded anyway, knowing how much the money for the expedition meant to Hawke. Besides, he wasn't about to let two mages and a dwarf hunt Tal'Vashoth without his protection. "I have endured far greater hardships than a slight fever," he answered.

"I _know _that, Fenris, but…"

"I am fit to travel with you. Let us be off."

Hawke stared at Fenris for a moment, chewing his bottom lip. He wasn't entirely convinced of Fenris's assertion, but it also occurred to him that Fenris knew his own body, and its limits, and that it would be patronising of him to suggest otherwise.

"All right," conceded Hawke, walking back over to the others with Fenris. "I want Anders along for this," he told them all. "The Qunari are not to be trifled with. I'm not taking any chances."

"I'll go get him," Varric volunteered. "Finish your game. Sunshine, you stay here."

Bethany rolled her eyes. "I've been to Darktown before, silly. Come on." Bethany was already on her way out as she spoke.

Hawke sniggered. "You can see who the boss is there, can't you, Fenris?"

With a smile, partly out of relief that Hawke was joking with him, Fenris nodded. "Indeed."

"The trick is to make her _believe _she's the boss, Hawke," answered the dwarf with an easy smile. "We'll meet you at Dead Man's Pass; that's where we ran into Tintop."

"Dead Man's Pass?" exclaimed Hawke. "That's not ominous at all, is it? Wait…you took my sister through _Dead Man's Pass_?"

"I'm already gone, Hawke," chuckled Varric, making a hasty exit.

~o~O~o~

After making a brief stop at home to inform Leandra that he and Bethany would be late, Hawke and Fenris took a slow walk to Dead Man's Pass, guessing they would arrive there before the others. On the way, Fenris took the opportunity to talk to Hawke.

"Hawke, may I speak with you about…this morning?"

"What about this morning?" Hawke asked casually without looking at Fenris.

Fenris's voice grew a little quieter. "I think that I may have offended you; in fact, I am certain of it."

"I wasn't offended," Hawke cut in quickly, still not looking at the elf. "All right, maybe I was a bit." He sighed loudly and displaced his anxiety by straightening his robe. He really didn't know what to say to Fenris. He certainly couldn't tell him that he'd all but given up any hope that they could ever be more than friends. How could they be, if Fenris wouldn't allow Hawke to touch him? He'd been an idiot to think such a thing was possible in the first place.

"I have lost count of the number of times I have apologised to you," Fenris said, shaking his head. "You have been a good friend, as I have already stated. Perhaps it's about time I started behaving like a friend, as well. I'm just not sure how; this is all new to me."

Hawke rubbed his forehead and groaned. "I was just concerned about your health, that's all. That's what I _do_; I'm a healer. I…oh, I wasn't angry with you, Fenris. Let's just drop it."

Hawke walked ahead a little, his stomach burning. Of _course _Fenris had reacted the way he had. Why had Hawke just lunged for Fenris's forehead? How else would he have reacted? Fenris hadn't done anything wrong, so why did Hawke feel so frustrated? His thoughts were interrupted as Fenris caught up and stepped in front of Hawke, blocking his path.

"I do not wish to 'drop it'," insisted Fenris. Hawke halted. "You were correct, Hawke; I have not felt like myself for the past few days. If you are still willing, I would appreciate it if you would…examine me, after we are done here."

Hawke's mouth opened a little in surprise, and he cleared his throat. "I might not even need to examine you, Fenris, if you just tell me how you've been feeling. I shouldn't have just…well, this morning. I went about things the wrong way. I'm sorry."

"You did nothing wrong," stated Fenris. He looked up at Hawke, his lips twitching slightly. "This friendship business is not easy, is it?"

"No, it's not." Hawke smiled, and massaged his neck. "Maker, Fenris, I don't know how we haven't killed each other by now."

"You would undoubtedly heal yourself if I attempted that," quipped Fenris, "so I will not waste my time."

Hawke threw his head back and laughed. "I can't heal myself if I'm dead, Fenris."

"I will bear that in mind," replied Fenris, and Hawke laughed again. Fenris took a deep breath and glanced around. "If you wish, you may examine me now," he said with a shrug. He wanted to show Hawke that he trusted him, even though the thought of Hawke's touch elicited a strong desire to run in him.

Hawke continued to walk along, and Fenris followed. "Just tell me why you've been feeling ill, Fenris; I may be able to tell from a description alone. I don't want to examine you unnecessarily, just in case it causes you discomfort."

"Well, I have felt hot, as you know. I have also tired easily with little exertion."

"And you've felt like this for a few days?" asked Hawke.

"Yes, although today it has been more pronounced. I have also felt…weakness."

"Where?" asked Hawke. "All over? Your limbs?"

"Just in my limbs," Fenris answered. "It was particularly noticeable during my training this morning."

"Any problems with your appetite? Are you eating properly? Any trouble with your stomach, bowels?"

"Nothing like that," replied Fenris, shaking his head. "I feel rather foolish telling you this. These complaints are minor."

"They're not minor if they're interfering in your life, Fenris; you told me that you train every day, and this is interfering with that." He grasped his beard for a moment, considering Fenris's symptoms. "Have you been sneezing? Coughing?"

"I do not have a cold," Fenris stated. "This feels…different."

As they were talking, they arrived at Dead Man's Pass and waited for the others to arrive. "You know, Fenris, Anders would be better qualified to examine you than me. I'm good with injuries, but when it comes to illnesses, Anders really knows what he's talking about."

"I would prefer it if you were to examine me."

"But what if I can't tell?" Hawke asked. "Like I said, I'm not the world's greatest authority on illnesses. If I don't know, would you let Anders examine you?"

Fenris's eyes wandered to the ground.

"Well, shall I try, anyway?" offered Hawke, and Fenris nodded. Hawke took a deep breath and positioned himself in front of Fenris. "I'm just going to rest my hands on your arms. Do your markings hurt when they're touched?"

"Not if your touch is gentle," answered Fenris.

"I promise it will be. Please tell me if it hurts, and I'll stop immediately. Agreed?"

"Agreed." Fenris straightened up and Hawke raised his hands, softly resting them against Fenris's bare arms. He looked at Fenris's face and noticed that the elf was sweating, and that his cheeks were once again flushed.

Hawke closed his eyes and, for a moment, was unable to concentrate; the feel of Fenris's hard, taut muscles under his hand, and the heat of his markings against the coolness of his skin almost made Hawke forget what he was supposed to be doing. Feeling dizzy and hot, he pushed all thoughts of Fenris's muscles out of his mind and focused on his task. Gripping Fenris's arms lightly, he pulled the Fade open and waited.

Making a connection, he listened as his own heart beat in rhythm with Fenris's, and Hawke felt his body temperature rise to match that of the elf's. He then felt his blood rush into his head and immediately he could feel his own blood pulsating through every vein in his body. Hawke felt himself break into a sweat and his arms and legs were beset by sudden weakness. He felt exactly what Fenris had been experiencing, and once again his blood rushed around his body, making him giddy.

The blood. That was it; there was something wrong with Fenris's blood.

Hawke's eyes opened and he blinked several times, noticing the look of concern on Fenris's face.

"Hawke…are you all right?"

Hawke blew a strand of hair off his face and steadied his breathing, realising he was panting. "Your blood," he mumbled. "There's something in your blood."

Although Hawke had not yet removed his hands from Fenris's arms, he let them rest there, seeing no distress on Fenris's face.

"My blood? What do you mean?"

Hawke blinked again. "Sorry, Fenris, just give me a sec…this takes a bit out of me. Was it all right? Did you feel any pain? Discomfort?"

"No," answered Fenris truthfully.

"Good." Hawke stared at his hands for a moment, and slowly removed them from Fenris's arms. "Your blood…it's…different," he said, shaking his head.

"Different? Explain," demanded Fenris.

"Well, I've examined and treated elves before, and your blood is different to theirs, that's all. I'm sorry I can't be any more specific than that; as I said, Anders would be able to shed more light on it. It's possible that there's a poison or infection at work in your body; that would certainly change the nature of your blood. Have you been wounded by an arrow or dagger lately?"

Fenris shook his head and turned away, concerned at Hawke's words.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Fenris," Hawke said. "I'm really not a very good healer; I didn't have the education that Anders did. He'll be able to pinpoint the cause, I'm certain."

Fenris turned back, and Hawke could see a hint of fear in the elf's eyes. "Do not underestimate yourself, Hawke. You mended my broken leg, after all."

"Broken bones are surprisingly easy to fix, Fenris, but with things like this, I'm all at sea. Anders will be here, soon; I want you to let him examine you."

Fenris shook his head. "No. I would prefer that he does not find out."

"Find out what? That you're ill?"

"No." Fenris glanced at Hawke, fear once again apparent in his eyes. "I have suspected something like this for a long time," he began.

"What?" Hawke asked impatiently.

Fenris grasped his chin and started to pace. "I was told that before I received my markings, Danarius took several samples of my blood and added…other things to them, although what, I do not know. During the procedure, I was forced to drink several concoctions of his, which Danarius claimed would help with the pain, but I felt no such effect." Fenris's eyes fell to Hawke's chest and a pained expression came over him. "I have often speculated that Danarius planted something in me, a security measure, if you will. Perhaps this is it."

Hawke was silent for a moment as he absorbed Fenris's words. "You think he…purposely infected you with something?"

"I would put nothing past him," snarled Fenris. "Perhaps he will have the last laugh, after all."

"But that was three-and-a-half years ago, Fenris," said Hawke, feeling panicked.

"As a mage, you would know whether such a thing is possible," stated Fenris. "Could he implant something in my body that would remain dormant for so long?"

"I-I'm sorry, Fenris, I have no idea. As I said, Anders…"

"Yes, as you _said_, Anders would know, as clearly you do _not_!" Fenris snapped and again turned away from Hawke, releasing a shaky breath and meshing his hands together on top of his head. After a moment, he shook his head and slowly turned back to a despondent-looking Hawke. "I…did not mean that, Hawke. Forgive me. You are a fine healer."

"You're really frightened, aren't you?" Hawke asked softly, his voice thick.

"I…" Fenris squeezed his eyes closed and his body sagged, his arms hanging limply at his sides. Hawke took a step closer to him, and, without asking, he gently placed his hands on Fenris's arms. Fenris flinched momentarily, but didn't move away, not wishing to hurt Hawke's feelings again.

"Fenris, I swear to you that we'll get to the bottom of this. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

Fenris nodded and slowly raised his head, his eyes meeting Hawke's. "I know. I am sorry, Hawke."

"It's all right," Hawke whispered, his eyes moving down to Fenris's mouth. He saw the bob of the elf's adam's apple and felt Fenris's muscles tighten beneath his hands. Without warning, Fenris pulled away.

"Fenris, I-I'm sorry…" Hawke stammered, but was silenced when Fenris placed a finger against his own mouth.

"Voices," the elf whispered, moving behind a large rock and gesturing for Hawke to join him.

"It could be the others," guessed Hawke as he crouched down next to Fenris.

"No; the voices are coming from the wrong direction," Fenris told him quietly, and the two of them listened carefully.

A moment later, Fenris removed his sword from his back. "It is the Tal'Vashoth," declared the elf gravely. "I recognise their words. They know we are here."


	25. Chapter 25

"You brought Bethany to _this_ place?" Anders asked Varric, chuckling to himself as they entered Dead Man's Pass. "Dwarf, you have a lot to learn about the fairer sex."

"And I guess you're the one to teach me, huh, Blondie?"

"Actually," said Bethany in Varric's defence, "he _was _taking me to a really nice stretch of the coast. It's supposed to be very pretty at night," she said with a smile at Varric, which the dwarf returned.

"And that's what _he_ told you, is it?" Anders scoffed.

"Hey!" protested Varric. "Aren't you supposed to be teaching me about the fairer sex? Help me out, here!"

"I think you're beyond help," Anders laughed. "Bringing a lady to a desolate, cold and scary place like this late at night? Wouldn't have been my first choice, I can tell you."

Varric halted and bowed low to Anders. "Then I am eternally grateful that I have your vast knowledge of women to draw upon, Blondie; I can see you're beating off the ladies with a stick as I speak."

"Lesson number one, Varric: sarcastic dwarves are not attractive to the opposite sex," Anders remarked pithily.

"I'm sorry to change the subject," Bethany said, looking around, "but shouldn't they have been here by now?"

Varric shrugged his shoulders. "This _is _where we agreed to meet. Maybe they got held up?"

"We should take a look around," Anders advised, his tone more sober as he readied his staff.

With a grim nod, Varric hefted Bianca from his back, and the three of them silently made their way further up the pass, knowing better than to call out for their friends.

As they reached the crest of a small hill, Anders and Bethany stopped dead and looked at each other.

"What is it?" Varric whispered.

"Someone's using magic up ahead," replied Anders. "Bethany? Can you tell if it's your brother?"

Bethany closed her eyes and concentrated hard for a few seconds. "Yes, it's him," she confirmed, her eyes snapping open, and she and Anders started to charge ahead.

"He's healing someone?" asked Varric, struggling to keep up.

"No, and that's what I'm worried about," she called back. "His offensive magic is not very strong; he wouldn't use it unless he was under attack."

Anders broke into a run, quickly followed by Bethany, and Varric cursed his stumpy legs as they disappeared from sight. After a few seconds, he heard Anders yell, "Hoy, you big, fat bastards! Pick on someone your own size!"

The Pass was lit up as Anders and Bethany began casting, and Varric arrived next to them as three Qunari ran towards them, one of them frozen in mid-stride by Bethany.

"Varric!" Anders yelled as the other two advanced on them. The dwarf, way ahead of Anders, let fly two bolts, both of which struck the Qunari warriors, slowing them long enough for Bethany to immobilise them.

Further up the path, Anders could see a clearly-weakened Fenris defending Hawke from two Qunari; Hawke seemed to be injured or incapacitated as he was on all fours, his staff lying discarded on the ground next to him.

Anders opened the Fade and bestowed his most powerful protective magic upon Fenris; the elf momentarily glanced in Anders's direction, his face twisted with rage. As another bolt from Bianca slammed into one of his aggressors, Fenris regained his focus and once again engaged the nearest Qunari, his neighbour quickly turning into a block of ice courtesy of Bethany.

The three new arrivals joined the fray, with Bethany running over to her brother while Varric and Fenris took care of the remaining Tal'Vashoth. As the last Qunari fell, Fenris dropped to his knees, his sword clattering on the ground as it fell from his hand.

Anders arrived at the elf's side and knelt down beside him. "Where are you injured, Fenris?" He reached out to clasp Fenris's shoulder.

"Do not touch me, Mage!" snarled Fenris, furious that Anders had used magic upon him, and he lashed out at Anders with his hands even as he collapsed onto his side, trembling.

"Hawke, what's the matter with Fenris? Hawke…?" Anders glanced over at Bethany, who was clutching Hawke's face between her hands, trying to talk to him.

"He's not making any sense!" she called over. "Fletcher? Fletcher! How much lyrium have you taken?"

Hawke stared at her blankly with dilated pupils, his mouth opening and closing but with no words coming out. "I think he's taken too much lyrium, Anders," Bethany guessed.

"What?" asked Varric, taking his eyes off the path for a moment. "Is that even possible for a mage?"

"It is, and it's serious." Anders scrambled to his feet and went over to the siblings. "Bethany, see if Fenris will talk to you. I can't see any injuries on him, but there's something wrong with him." Bethany nodded and walked over to Fenris, who was trying without success to push himself up onto his elbows, while Anders tended to Hawke.

"Guys, I'm going to keep an eye on the path," Varric told them, walking ahead.

"Be careful," replied Bethany, and she knelt down next to Fenris, holding her hand up to indicate she wasn't going to hurt him. "Fenris," she said softly, "what's wrong? Are you hurt?"

Fenris slumped onto his back, panting. "Hawke…see to Hawke first…"

"Anders is with my brother," she told him. "Please, Fenris, tell me what's wrong. Did they injure you?"

Fenris closed his eyes and shook his head, and Bethany looked over as Anders gently lowered Hawke, who was now unconscious, onto his back.

"You were right, Bethany," he called over. "I've had to completely drain his mana; he was addled." All mages, as templars, had the ability to deplete another mage's mana, although they rarely did so except in situations like this. Anders stood up and walked over to her, looking down at Fenris, who was deathly pale and slick with sweat. "Is he hurt?"

"He said no, but look at him, Anders; he's obviously not well."

"Let's get him out of sight," said Anders, nodding over to a small cleft in the rocks ahead, and he crouched down, wrapping his arm around Fenris's back.

"I _told _you not to touch me!" yelled Fenris, although he no longer had the strength to offer any physical resistance.

"Shut up, you idiot!" barked Anders. "I'd be quite happy to leave you here, but for some reason Hawke is friends with you, so just be thankful for that!"

"We're just going to take you over there," Bethany said quietly, also wrapping her arm around the elf, and they helped him to his feet.

"Hawke…" mumbled Fenris as they walked past the mage.

"He'll be all right," Anders told him. "Now, come on."

They took the reluctant elf over to the secluded area and sat him against the rock. Bethany summoned a few wisps to light the area and remained with him while Anders went back for Hawke. A short time later, Anders called for Bethany to help him.

"Sorry, Beth, I can't lift him," Anders admitted sheepishly. "He's too bloody heavy."

Taking an arm and a leg each, Anders and Bethany carried Hawke over to where Fenris sat and laid him on the ground next to the elf.

"What happened, Fenris?" Anders asked, crouching down. "Why did Hawke take so much lyrium?"

Fenris shook his head and slumped against the rock, his breathing laboured.

"Anders…he's burning up," said Bethany.

"Yes, I can see that. Fenris," he said sternly. "I need to examine you."

"No," snapped Fenris, bringing his knees up to his chest. "Hawke has already…no…not you…"

"Hawke has already examined you?" Anders asked. "What did he find?"

"Wake him," demanded Fenris. "I will only speak with him."

"_Wake_ him?" Anders sprang to his feet and glared down at Fenris. "He needs to bloody rest! Honestly, do you care about no one but yourself?"

"Anders," Bethany softly remonstrated. "This isn't helping."

"Well see if _you_ can get any sense of out him, then!" Anders snapped, his harsh tone directed at Fenris. "I'm going to see if Varric needs any help."

As Anders disappeared into the darkness, Bethany sighed and sat next to Fenris, crossing her legs. "We can't wake Fletcher yet; he has no mana and has to rest in order to regenerate it," she explained. "Will you tell _me_ what happened, Fenris? Why did he take so much lyrium?"

Fenris watched her warily for a moment, his posture gradually relaxing a little after a minute or two. "We were surrounded; I tried to talk with them, reason with them, but they paid us no heed. I…I was not strong enough." He shook his head and glanced over at Hawke, who lay sleeping at his side.

"What do you mean, you weren't strong enough?"

"I am…ill. Hawke told me that I am infected with something. I tried to fend them off but my body failed me. Hawke…he tried to protect me, but it proved too much for him."

"He used his offensive magic?" asked Bethany. "But that would have been a terrible drain on him."

"He was fearless. I-I am ashamed." Fenris hung his head and sighed.

"Ashamed that a mage had to protect you?" she guessed.

"Yes," Fenris admitted. "That was…wrong of me. He did his best, but could not continue. He kept drinking his potions, but eventually, he became exhausted." Fenris once again looked over at Hawke.

"He'll be fine, Fenris, once he's had a little sleep. I'm more concerned about you. What did Fletcher say you were infected with? Have you been poisoned?"

"He did not know," said Fenris quietly. "I do not want Anders to examine me. Perhaps...perhaps you could?"

"I'm sorry, Fenris, I'm not a healer," Bethany said apologetically. "I know you and Anders don't get on, but you really should let him look at you. He's a very good healer, even better than Fletcher, and Fletcher wouldn't mind me saying that; he says the same thing himself."

"No," Fenris insisted. He was comfortable with Hawke and Bethany, now, but didn't trust the abomination as far as he could throw him, which wasn't far. "I will only allow Hawke to."

"It's only us," they heard Anders say from a short distance away, and he and Varric emerged from the darkness.

"There are more of them not far from here," Varric quietly told them. "I think we can take them between the three of us, and they won't be expecting us. Depends on these two, though," he said with a nod at Fenris and Hawke. "Are they gonna be ok if we leave them?"

Bethany glanced up at Anders. "Fletcher suspects that Fenris is infected with something."

"Did he say with what?"

Bethany shook her head.

"Well, we can't treat an infection here, anyway," Anders said thoughtfully. "He needs medicine, which has to be made fresh; it doesn't keep well."

"But how is he going to get back?" asked Bethany. "He's too weak to walk."

"I will manage," Fenris said with more conviction then he felt.

"Let's just take care of these Qunari, first, before they find _us_," said Varric. "If they do, there could be five of us lying flat on our asses, if not dead, and we won't need to worry whether or not the elf can walk."

"All right, then," Bethany agreed as Anders offered his hand, helping her to her feet. She looked down at Fenris. "I can make you feel a bit more comfortable, Fenris, or Anders can. We can lower your temperature…"

"No, thank you," Fenris answered with a polite nod. "I will be fine."

"I wouldn't bother, Bethany," Anders said angrily with a pointed look at the elf. "He obviously doesn't want our help. You'll want our medicine, though, won't you?"

"Keep your voice down, Blondie," advised Varric. "Let's go."

"Fenris," said Bethany, "I'm going to place a few wards around here; they'll protect you both. Don't leave here until we return."

Fenris nodded, squeezing his eyes closed, searing heat creeping along his markings as Bethany warded the area. "We'll be back as soon as we can, Fenris; hang in there," she told him with a kind smile.

"Thank you," said Fenris, exhaling as Bethany left with the others. He then glanced over at Hawke, who, by now, was snoring. He smiled, slightly envious that anyone could sleep so soundly on cold rock. Surrendering to his own exhaustion, his eyes slowly closed.

~o~O~o~

Fenris was woken abruptly as an arm was slung across his legs. Hawke had turned onto his side and was snuggling against Fenris's thigh for warmth. Fenris very carefully removed Hawke's arm and placed it over Hawke's chest; the mage flopped onto his back and woke with a snort.

With a huge yawn, Hawke blinked several times and looked around, his eyes eventually finding the elf. "Fenris?" he mumbled fuzzily. "We're…alive?"

"We are, indeed."

"What are we doing here?"

"Not much, at the moment," answered Fenris with a weary smile.

"Smartarse."

Fenris began to tell him how they'd been rescued by the others, and Hawke again turned onto his side, propped up on his elbow, and attempted to sit up, but was overwhelmed by dizziness. "What the…?"

"Anders took your magic away," Fenris explained.

"Oh." Hawke eased himself onto his back. "How are _you_ doing, Fenris? Were you hurt?"

"I was not injured," he answered. "I must confess, though, I have felt better."

"I don't suppose you let Anders examine you, did you?"

Fenris shrugged and didn't answer.

"I'll take that as a 'no', then." Hawke shook his head. "You really are a stubborn sod, you know that? Not that I'm taking advantage of your weakened state to say that to your face, while I'm right next to you."

"Of course not," Fenris answered, laughing softly, closing his eyes as he rested against the rock.

Hawke, with a supreme effort, got onto all fours and crawled forward a little until he reached the rock wall Fenris sat against. He slumped against it, sitting a few inches away from Fenris. "We're a right bloody pair, aren't we?" he asked the elf with a weak laugh.

Fenris opened his eyes, nodded and bent his right leg, examining his foot. "Hawke," he began quietly. "You should not have endangered yourself like that. That was very foolish of you."

"You're probably right. I should have fled and let them butcher you. Would you have approved of that?"

Fenris looked askance at Hawke, not certain whether he was joking or not. "I do not think I would have been alive enough to approve." He sighed. "I…do appreciate what you did, Hawke."

"You _must _be ill," quipped Hawke, and he felt warmth pool in his belly as Fenris laughed. "Fenris," he said seriously with a frown. "What have you done to your foot?"

Fenris looked down at his cracked heel, which had started to bleed again. "It is a recurring problem. I have treated it."

"What with?"

Fenris told Hawke of the ointment he used on his foot.

"You make that yourself?" asked Hawke, and Fenris nodded. "I'm impressed." He bent forward a little to take a closer look at Fenris's foot, noticing that his ankle was red and slightly swollen. "Well, Fenris; I think we've found the source of your infection."

"You think my foot is the cause?"

"Well, yes," answered Hawke, raising his hand and placing it next to Fenris's ankle. "May I? I won't hurt you, I promise."

Fenris nodded his assent, and Hawke gently rested his hand against the elf's ankle. "Yes, your skin's hot. You must be in a lot of pain with this, Fenris; why didn't you say anything?" Receiving no answer, Hawke sighed. "I suppose you're used to pain, aren't you?"

"I have always had problems with my feet," he answered with a shrug and let his head fall back against the rock, exhaling slowly; Hawke could see how relieved he was that Danarius hadn't been the cause of his illness.

"Fenris…don't you think it's about time we put an end to Danarius?"

"I would like nothing more, Hawke, but I do not know where he is. My guess is that he has returned to Minrathous for the time being, but he could still be here, for all I know."

"But you can't just waste your life away in the mansion waiting for him to come to you," said Hawke. "When I told you that you had an infection, you immediately suspected the worst and thought that he'd been responsible for it. Fenris…the thought of it terrified you. You can't live like that; it'll make you paranoid."

"What would you have me do, Hawke?" asked Fenris with a heavy sigh. "I would not know where to begin. I do not enjoy living like this, but I see no other alternative."

"I'm going to talk to Varric," Hawke said, realising that his hand was still resting on Fenris's leg, but he didn't move it. "He knows a lot of people, both here and in other places. If that bastard Danarius wants a fight, Fenris, then we won't wait for him to come to you; we'll take the fight to him."

"That is admirable, and I thank you once again for your concern, but…"

"I'm not making empty promises, Fenris. I mean what I say." Hawke fixed Fenris with a determined look, and the elf nodded with a faint smile. "As soon as you're better, we're going to start making plans," Hawke promised.

Hawke finally retracted his hand from Fenris's leg and began to remove his boots. Fenris watched him curiously. "What are you doing?" he asked as Hawke took his socks off.

"Put these on your bad foot," Hawke told him, passing the socks over. "They'll protect it a little on the way back. They don't smell too bad, honestly. Don't just take my word for it; give them a good sniff."

"I am not going to sniff your socks, Hawke," chuckled Fenris, slipping one of them over his right foot. "Unless that is a cure for the infection?"

"You'll wish it was when you taste the medicine I'm going to make for you," Hawke told him as he pulled his boots back on.

"Why?"

"Well, I'll tell you what's in it, and you can decide whether you'd prefer to sniff my socks or not. I hope you like garlic, because there's _tons _of garlic in it."

Fenris's face fell. "I _loathe_ garlic."

"Oh, dear. Well, look on the bright side; that's not _all _that's in it. There's also onion, pepper, lemon, honey, echinacea, a drop of silver…oh, and stinging nettles, just to give it a bit of a kick. The garlic does tend to overpower everything else, though."

"And this is applied as a poultice?" Fenris asked hopefully.

"No, you have to drink it. Four times a day to be exact, until the infection has cleared up."

"_Drink _it?" Fenris looked at Hawke, aghast, and then his eyes narrowed. "You are attempting to put me on, aren't you? To cheer me up?"

Hawke burst out laughing. "Whatever you say, Fenris."

"You are…serious?"

"That's the most up-to-date treatment there is," Hawke told him, "and it actually works."

"You are nothing but a quack," Fenris joked, and Hawke laughed harder. "Not that I am taking advantage of your current lack of magic powers to say that to your face."

"You're getting _extra _garlic, just for that," Hawke threatened. "Count yourself lucky; back in my grandparents' day you would have just had your foot cut off."

"Having my foot cut off sounds preferable to swallowing…_that_," Fenris opined. "Four times a day," he added with a shudder.

"You haven't even _tasted_ it, yet! I was given that treatment when I was a kid, and I think I can still taste it _now_."

Fenris shook his head. "Nothing but a quack," he repeated.

"I like it when we're like this, you know," said Hawke with a soft laugh, his eyes fixed upon the elf.

"As do I, Hawke," replied Fenris, who looked down at his lap.

"I might just not give you the medicine at all, if being ill means you're too weak to argue with me."

"And perhaps your magic powers should be permanently removed," Fenris said magnanimously.

"That would certainly make life a lot simpler," Hawke said seriously. "I spent most of my childhood wishing I hadn't been born a mage, you know. I still think that way now, sometimes," he admitted to an astonished Fenris.

"Why would you want that?" asked the elf. "You have all of this power at your command. Why would you wish to be rid of it?"

"We're not like the Magisters here, Fenris; oh, sure, there are a few like that. On the whole, though, we Fereldan mages are not a bad lot, really."

"I am beginning to see that," Fenris said quietly, still looking at his lap.

"Well, now I really _am _concerned about you," laughed Hawke. "I think we need to give you this cure now. Either that, or you get double the amount of garlic when we get back."

"No extra garlic," protested Fenris, his eyes moving to Hawke's face. "You are enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Certainly not," Hawke insisted earnestly. "Us quacks take our jobs very seriously, you know."

"I am going to regret calling you that, am I not?"

"_Oh_, yes."

They laughed together, and Hawke closed his eyes, leaning back against the rock with a sigh as exhaustion washed over him again. Fenris watched him for a moment and then placed Hawke's second sock over his foot. He then rested against the rock next to Hawke, closing his own eyes, no longer fearing that Hawke would harm him after the mage's valiant display against the Tal'Vashoth.

Perhaps Hawke would be the first mage that Fenris had ever trusted, after all.

~o~O~o~

By the time Varric, Anders and Bethany returned to them, having dealt with the remaining Tal'Vashoth, Hawke and Fenris were fast asleep. Fenris had slumped slightly and his head rested against Hawke's shoulder.

"Aw, look at them; aren't they sweet together?" said Bethany with a huge smile. Varric rolled his eyes; Anders just stared at them.

"We need to think about how we're going to get them back," the mage said briskly. "Both of them are weak and are going to need support."

"Give them a bit longer," whispered Bethany, sitting down on the ground. "We could do with a rest, anyway."

"Just a quick one then, Sunshine," said Varric, joining her. "I'm guessing it'll take us a while to get them back."

Anders, who remained standing, tilted his head and looked at Fenris's foot. "Why is he wearing socks on his foot?"

"Those are Fletcher's socks," said Bethany. "I knitted them myself."

"Maybe the elf's foot got cold?" offered Varric. "What?" he asked as Bethany groaned.

"More likely he's injured it," she replied.

Anders crouched down next to Fenris and looked at his foot. "That ankle's swollen. Hawke wouldn't have been able to heal it, and I doubt Fenris will let me do it. One of us may have to carry him. Any volunteers?" he asked with a grin. "You needn't look at me: I don't fancy getting a fist through my heart, thank you very much."

"Maybe Fletcher can help him," said Bethany. "He should be fine, now."

Anders reached over and shook Hawke's leg a few times until he woke up. "Anders?" he asked blearily. "Is everyone all right?"

"We're in good shape, Hawke, which is more than can be said for the Qunari," answered Varric.

Hawke glanced to his side and gave a joyful laugh. "Look at Fenris, Beth; he's lying on my shoulder!"

"I know, and it's a shame to separate you, but we probably need to start heading back, soon," replied his sister.

Hawke scooted away from Fenris a little, and the elf's head flopped against his chest. "Fenris?" Hawke called softly, lightly tapping Fenris's arm.

Fenris woke with a start and pushed himself up straight. "You ok there, Elf?" asked Varric.

"I am, thank you," he answered. "You are all well?"

"We're fine," said Anders. "Can you stand?"

Fenris shot a glance at Hawke, who pushed himself up as the others stood with him. He bent forward slightly and held out his hands to Fenris. To Anders's surprise, and Bethany's delight, Fenris took Hawke's hands and the mage pulled him up, holding him steady as he wavered a little.

Hawke backed away a little from Fenris but kept his arms outstretched in case Fenris lost his balance. "How do you feel, Fenris?" Hawke asked him, noticing that the exertion of standing had caused Fenris to break into a sweat.

"I am fine, Hawke," insisted the elf, who managed a few steps before stumbling as his right leg gave way. Hawke grabbed Fenris's arms and straightened him up, loosening his grip on the elf but not releasing him.

"So I see," said Hawke with a wry smile. "Are you going to let me help you?"

Fenris took a deep breath and looked at the ground, knowing that there was no way he could walk back unaided.

"I would appreciate that, Hawke."

Hawke stepped closer to Fenris and snaked an arm around the elf's shoulders, and Fenris slowly wrapped his own arm around Hawke's back, grabbing a handful of his robe.

The others started to walk ahead, and Bethany exchanged a gleeful smile with her brother before turning and summoning her wisps to follow them.

"Let's go, Fenris," said Hawke.


	26. Chapter 26

After a very slow journey back to Kirkwall, during which Fenris had to stop several times, Hawke and his little gang finally reached Lowtown. Anders quickly departed for Darktown, which mildly irritated Hawke. He knew that Anders and Fenris weren't friends, but nevertheless, Fenris was ill and Hawke had expected Anders to at least stick around for a while.

Varric had escorted Bethany home, and Hawke had seen Fenris to the mansion, where he'd instructed the elf to rest, promising to return later with the ingredients for Fenris's medicine. Hawke had also told Fenris that he intended to stay at the mansion for the rest of the night to keep an eye on him. Naturally, Fenris had protested, but Hawke refused to take no for an answer, and by this time Fenris was too exhausted to argue.

Pausing outside the front door of the mansion, Hawke took several deep breaths. He had good reason to be nervous. After he'd gone home for his ingredients and to let his mother know he wouldn't be home that night, she'd given him something for Fenris, which he carried under his arm, wrapped in paper. At the time, he'd thought it a wonderful idea of his mother's, but, with each step he'd taken toward Hightown, that belief had rapidly dwindled, leaving him with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

For a moment he considered tucking the small package behind one of the bushes in the courtyard, but, as the door opened, he realised that he'd already knocked it, and it was too late.

"Fenris! You heard my knock."

Fenris, still pale but looking a little brighter after having a rest, stood in the doorway and cocked his head slightly. "Of course I did…come in, Hawke."

"Yes, of course you heard my knock," he mumbled as he entered. Maker, why was he so bloody nervous? The worst that would happen was that Fenris would dislike Leandra's gift, and Hawke knew, in that eventuality, that Fenris would be polite. It would be fine.

Actually, no. That _wasn't_ the worst thing that could happen. The worst thing would be that Fenris would resent that Hawke had discussed Fenris's problems with his family, and, feeling pity for the poor, helpless slave, Hawke's mother had decided to throw him a few scraps. Fenris would be angry and humiliated, Hawke would be furious that his mother had gone to so much trouble and that Fenris was so ungrateful. They'd argue and Fenris would throw Hawke out. Everything would be ruined.

"Stop it," Hawke muttered under his breath as Fenris closed the door.

"Stop what?" asked Fenris.

"Oh…nothing."

Fenris tilted his head again, frowning. "Is…everything all right?"

Hawke nodded quickly and laughed. "It's, um…my mana. It hasn't fully regenerated, yet; I'm a little unfocused."

"Perhaps you ought to sit down?" suggested Fenris.

"No…I'm fine, really. I need to make this medicine for you. I know how much you're looking forward to it."

Fenris snorted, and his eyes moved to the two small bags that Hawke held in his hand, and then to the paper package under his arm. Hawke gulped.

"What have you there?" asked the elf.

"Just stuff for the medicine, and a change of clothing," replied Hawke, pressing the package firmly against his side. "I'm going to need some hot water."

"In the kitchen." Fenris pointed the way. "I had some ready, for tea."

"Oh, thank you. I won't need much; there should still be enough for the tea."

"I will go with you," Fenris told him. "I will make the tea, while you make this…medicine," he added with a look of disgust, and Hawke laughed at his reaction.

"You never know," Hawke joked, "you may actually like the taste. You'd probably be the first person in medical history to do so, mind you, but stranger things have happened."

"You are a healer," Fenris stated as they walked to the kitchen. "Should you not be putting me at ease, telling me that 'everything is going to be all right'? Is that not what healers do?"

"I'll lie, if you prefer. Fenris, you're going to _love _this medicine! It's absolutely delicious!" chirped Hawke.

Fenris halted and folded his arms. "You are not making me feel any better about this," he said morosely.

Hawke also stopped, turned to face Fenris and leaned towards him a little. "That'll teach you not to call me a 'quack'," he whispered, before scampering off, sniggering, to the kitchen, leaving Fenris to shake his head, a reluctant smile pulling at his lips.

By the time Fenris entered the kitchen, Hawke was emptying the contents of one of his bags onto the counter. Fenris stood next to him and watched, fascinated, as Hawke sorted through the ingredients, placing some of them into a mortar, ready to be crushed.

"Aren't you supposed to be making the tea?" Hawke asked him with a cheeky smile.

"I want to see exactly what I will be expected to _drink_," Fenris said with a grimace.

"All right, then; if you insist." Hawke placed an onion, a head of garlic, a lemon, some peppercorns, several small phials and a few bunches of leaves onto the counter. Taking a large knife from the knife rack, he sliced the onion in half, diced it, and then proceeded to crush half of the garlic cloves with the back of the knife.

"How many portions are you making?" asked Fenris.

"One."

"_One_? You are putting half a head of garlic into one portion?" Fenris exclaimed in horror.

"I told you there was a lot of garlic." Hawke picked up a bundle of leaves and waved them at Fenris. "Nettles," he said in a solemn tone, and began to chop them. Noticing Fenris's appalled expression, Hawke clamped his lips together to stop himself from laughing. "Look," he said firmly with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes, "you can either drink this, or you can go to the Wise Woman in Darktown. She'll stick leeches all over your foot."

"Those are my choices?"

"Those are your choices. You could also see Anders in Darktown, but he'll make you drink exactly the same thing, and you'll miss out on my charming company."

His shoulders sagging, Fenris sighed and walked over to the fireplace. "I will make the tea."

Hawke glanced back at the elf, feeling a little guilty for teasing him, but not quite guilty enough to stop. The concoction he was making tasted truly foul, but it _did _work. "Save me a bit of water, Fenris; enough for half a cup."

"As you wish," uttered the elf, bringing the kettle over to the counter. "What is that you have under your arm?" asked Fenris.

"Hm? Oh…nothing."

"I am imagining things, then?"

"That's right."

A puckish smile appeared on Fenris's face and he craned his neck, trying to get a better look. "What is it, Hawke?"

Hawke turned away from Fenris a little and cringed. "Nothing you'd be interested in."

"On the contrary, Hawke," said Fenris, and Hawke heard mirth in his voice. "Your suspicious behaviour is only serving to pique my interest."

"Bloody elf. Always with the big words," Hawke whispered, just loud enough for Fenris to hear, and, hearing a quiet snigger from behind him, Hawke also started to laugh. He turned around and sighed. "It's…well, I'll give it to you when you've had your medicine."

"It's for me?" asked Fenris, and Hawke nodded sheepishly. "Is this medicine so terrible that you must bribe me to drink it?"

"No…" Hawke hung his head bashfully. "It's-it's a gift. Sort of."

"Well, now I really am intrigued," said Fenris, highly amused that Hawke seemed to have been struck by sudden shyness. "Show me."

"Not until you've had your medicine," insisted Hawke. "Now, make the tea. I have _garlic _to crush. _Lots_ of it."

As Fenris poured the tea, and Hawke steeped his ingredients in hot water, they occasionally glanced at each other and chuckled quietly. "You won't be laughing once you've tasted this, Elf," Hawke teased.

"And _you_ will not be laughing when I spit it all over your fancy robe," retorted Fenris.

"Ha! I won't be standing anywhere near you!"

Hawke was on cloud nine. He and Fenris seemed to share the same sense of humour and he loved the back-and-forth between them. He also had to admit that he relished the prospect of looking after Fenris, that he _needed _to be looked after. The only problem was, now that Fenris had seen the gift, Hawke would _have _to give it to him. Deciding that he may as well make the most of the levity before everything was ruined, Hawke strained the medicine into a cup and pushed it along the counter towards Fenris.

"Drink up while it's hot, Fenris," he said with a wicked grin.

Fenris picked up the cup and eyed the contents with disdain. "It looks like the bottom of a swamp."

Hawke shook his head. "Looks can be deceiving; it tastes _much_ worse than that."

Fenris sniffed at the cup, immediately recoiling as a wall of garlic hit his nose.

"Come on, Fenris; your sludge is getting cold."

"This had better work, Hawke," Fenris menaced, raising the cup to his mouth.

"Best to drink it in one go," Hawke advised him, grimacing in sympathy and backing away a little just in case Fenris _did _spit it out.

Taking a deep breath, Fenris threw his head back and tipped the foul liquid into his mouth, and, for a moment, he appeared unruffled. After a few seconds, however, the edges of his mouth turned downwards and his eyes widened with an almost pleading look, before his face became contorted beyond recognition.

"Swallow it! Swallow it! Don't spit it out!" cried Hawke, desperately trying not to laugh.

Fenris slammed the cup down on the counter and squeezed his eyes closed, gulping noisily, and immediately started retching.

"I'm sorry, Fenris," Hawke said with a nervous laugh. "Here, drink some of your tea."

Fenris grabbed his cup of tea, downed it in one, and then reached for Hawke's tea. "May I?" he croaked, his eyes streaming.

"Of course!" laughed Hawke.

Fenris gulped the tea down and wiped his mouth and eyes, shaking his head. "That was…truly ghastly. For how long must I take this?"

Hawke's face fell and he gritted his teeth. "Maybe a week. At the most," he added quickly.

"A week? You are the most sadistic 'healer' I have ever encountered," remarked Fenris gruffly, arching a stern eyebrow.

"Quack," was all that Hawke could get out before he started to laugh uncontrollably. "Don't worry, Fenris," he gasped. "By tomorrow, you won't even care about the taste of the medicine!"

"And why is that?" demanded Fenris, his eyebrow rising even higher.

"Because _you'll_ smell so strongly of garlic, it'll completely obliterate the taste!"

Fenris folded his arms and nodded, an impish look in his eyes. "You said you have a gift for me? I believe I've earned it."

As Fenris suspected he would, Hawke stopped laughing and once again looked edgy, and Fenris wondered what he was so nervous about. "Erm, in a minute. I need to look at your foot…"

Fenris shook his head. "Now."

With a defeated groan, Hawke removed the small packet from under his arm and stared at it. Fenris unfolded his arms and took a step forward, strangely excited at the thought of being given a gift.

"I…need to explain, first, Fenris, before I give this to you. Explain how it came about, I mean." Fenris nodded and waited patiently for Hawke to begin. Hawke cleared his throat. "Well, while I was walking you back here, Bethany went home and must have got talking to Mother…" He cleared his throat again, and shifted from foot to foot, and Fenris firmly subdued his urge to smile. "…Well, they must have been talking about your feet, you know? Or something. Anyway, I was gone for a while, and-and, when I got home…"

He closed his eyes and offered the packet to Fenris, opening them again as the elf took it from him.

"What is it?" asked Fenris.

"Just…open it."

One edge of Fenris's mouth curved upward, but Hawke was unable to smile as Fenris unwrapped the gift, dreading his reaction.

"They found some black material," Hawke blabbered. "They, um, they made them. You know, sewed them, I mean." His last words came out in almost a whisper as he stared at the floor.

Fenris carefully folded the paper and set it upon the counter, carefully scrutinising the two soft, black objects in his hands. "These are…"

"Slippers," Hawke finished, venturing a hesitant glance upward. "They-they slip over your feet. You could wear them outside as well, if-if you wanted to, that is."

Fenris stared silently at the home-made slippers, and Hawke braced himself for the worst. "They're a bit stretchy, so they should fit." Hawke took a hesitant step forward. "Mother sewed some thicker material into the soles to protect your feet." Met with continuing silence from Fenris, he stepped back, and neither man spoke for a few moments.

"Please, Fenris, say something," Hawke finally blurted out, his nerves on a knife-edge. "At least tell me if you hate them; I-it's all right, really. I won't be offended or anything," he lied.

"Your mother and sister…made these?" Fenris asked quietly, not taking his eyes off the slippers.

"Yes. Mother, mainly, but Beth helped."

"For me?"

"Of course for you."

Fenris put on first one slipper and then the other; they fit snugly, but were not tight. He then walked forward a few steps, turned, and walked back to his original spot.

"What do you think?" Hawke asked, trying to sound casual.

"They are comfortable," said Fenris, and Hawke almost cried with relief. "I will not wear them outside, however."

"Oh, well, that-that's fine; it's up to you."

"I do not wish to wear them down. If I were to wear them outside, they would quickly become damaged. I…" He glanced up at Hawke, giving him a smile that made the mage's heart ache. "I…like them, Hawke. Very much."

Although Hawke felt like jumping up and down on the spot, he managed to remain reasonably poised. "You don't have to worry about wearing them out, Fenris; Bethany said there's plenty of material left, and they only took about an hour to make. Mother's a demon with a needle and cotton. Well, she's not a real demon. You know what I mean."

"I know what you mean, Hawke."

"What I'm trying to say is, if you wear out one pair, they'll make you another."

"But I…why would they do that for me?"

"They like you," Hawke told him. "Mother thinks you're the politest person she's ever met, and Beth likes you, as well. And…so do I. I mean…we all do. They wouldn't have done this for just anyone, you know." Hawke shrugged, feigning nonchalance.

"Your family is very kind, Hawke. I am…grateful." Without saying another word, Fenris turned and left the kitchen, still wearing his slippers. Hawke stared after him, suddenly feeling anxious again. Was Fenris just being polite? Was Hawke going to walk into an argument when he went through to the next room? Or was he just being an idiot with an over-active imagination?

Using the last of the hot water, Hawke made another two cups of tea and took them through to the main reception hall, where Fenris was sat upon the settee which would be Hawke's bed for the night. Fenris had already placed a pillow and some blankets upon it, and had put fresh wood on the fire. He had removed the slippers from his feet and held them in his hands, looking at them. He didn't look up until Hawke waved the cup of tea under his nose.

Fenris placed the slippers to his side almost with reverence, as though they were precious and would break if he handled them roughly. He then took the cup from Hawke and gestured for the mage to sit down.

"You wished to examine my foot?" Fenris asked after a moment, taking a sip of tea.

Hawke glanced around the room. "Actually, the light isn't really good enough, now. I could use magic to make light, but it can wait. I'll do it in the morning, if that's all right with you?"

Fenris nodded and stared at the fire as he continued to drink his tea. Hawke could feel anxiety once again creeping up on him: Fenris seemed to have gone into 'quiet and polite' mode.

Having finished his tea, Fenris picked up his slippers, stood, and then hesitated, as though he was considering his next words. His shoulders appeared to slump a little before he announced quietly, "I am going to retire, now."

"Oh…I'll see you in the morning, then," Hawke said, his brows knitting together. He'd expected Fenris to say something else; what, exactly, he had no idea.

"Yes. Goodnight, Hawke." Fenris turned and headed for the stairs.

Hawke slowly got to his feet and waited until Fenris had almost reached his room. "Fenris…you… didn't mind me giving you the slippers…did you?"

Fenris turned to face Hawke and then glanced at the slippers in his hand. "Mind? No," he replied with a faint smile. "No, I'm…no, I didn't mind at all."

Hawke smiled back at him. "That's good, then. Well, goodnight, Fenris. Sleep well."

"Thank you. You, as well, Hawke." With a brief nod, Fenris turned away and entered his room, closing the door.

Hawke watched the door for a moment or two, and then quickly slipped his robe over his head, pulling on the nightshirt he'd brought with him. He folded his robe and placed it on a nearby chair, and made up his bed on the settee. As he made himself comfortable, he again glanced up at Fenris's bedroom door and, as realisation slowly dawned on him, he felt his anxiety finally melt away.

Fenris hadn't been offended at the offer of the slippers; he'd been touched.

~o~O~o~

Fenris sat on the edge of his bed and placed his new slippers on the floor, carefully lining them up beside the bed. Allowing himself a small smile, he swung his legs up onto the bed and laid back. He'd removed his armour after Hawke had seen him home and he'd made his nightly check of the mansion, and he now wore a sleeveless shirt and leggings. He briefly considered changing for bed, but he was so exhausted he wasn't sure whether he could get back up. He'd done a good job of hiding his weariness from Hawke, but it had finally caught up with him.

He let his eyes wander over to the window. It was a clear night and the moon was out. Occasionally, he heard shuffling and clanking from outside, and knew that the newly-appointed guards were conducting their patrol of Hightown Estates. He also heard Hawke moving around on the slightly-creaky settee, as well as an occasional light cough. He closed his eyes, those faint sounds of company, of security, lulling him to sleep.

As was usual, Fenris woke a short time later, and, keeping his eyes closed, he shifted onto his side as the markings on his back were aching. As he snuggled his head into the pillow, his eyes snapped open and he held his breath.

The noises had stopped. There was nothing but silence. It was too quiet. Fenris's heart rate and breathing quickened and his stomach knotted.

Something was wrong.

He froze and once again held his breath as he felt movement on the bed behind him, and he rolled slightly onto his back as a heavy weight pressed against the mattress. Fenris immediately turned back onto his side and squeezed his eyes shut.

Someone was getting into bed with him.

An arm snaked around his waist and a large hand ran up and down his hip; soft, quiet laughter could be heard from behind him. Fenris's mind screamed at him to get up, run, to just _do _something, but he couldn't move; his arms and legs refused to obey him.

"Always so tense, Fenris. It never used to be this way; at one time, you came to me willingly, and now I must always come to you."

Fenris's body became limp; he knew there was no point resisting. A soft shudder ran through him as he felt warm breath against his ear, and the hand moved down to his groin.

"You're not even ready for me, Fenris; you always used to be ready for me. I don't understand why you are being like this. I give you a roof over your head, I feed and clothe you. You are the envy of your fellow slaves, and my fellow Magisters envy _me _because of you. I made you what you are, Fenris, and you _owe_ me. Don't you?"

His eyes still closed, because if he kept them closed he almost managed to convince himself that this wasn't happening, he nodded, turned onto his back and looked up into his master's cloudy blue eyes.

"What would you have me do, Danarius?"

The magister's hand moved up to Fenris's face and softly caressed his cheek. "Oh, Fenris, my pet," he whispered seductively. "You don't need to do anything, tonight."

Fenris's blood ran cold. He knew what that meant. "Master, I…please…"

"I have been patient enough, my little wolf. I think you need a reminder of exactly who is in charge, here." Danarius grabbed Fenris's shoulders and roughly pushed the elf over onto his belly.

"Master…I know who is in charge…I will do anything you ask; anything. Just, please…"

"Shhh." Fenris's mouth was covered by a large hand and he felt his leggings being tugged down. "Don't make me use magic on you, Fenris. I do hate it when you scream like that. Are you going to be good?"

Fenris again closed his eyes tightly and nodded, a tremor running through him as a tear slipped down his cheek.

"Now relax, my pet. This can be enjoyable for both of us, if you'll only allow it to be."

~o~O~o~

Hawke sat up straight and pushed his blankets aside, an unpleasant fluttering in his stomach. Something had woken him…hadn't it? A noise? He closed his eyes and tried to chase after the sound, only for it to retreat to the darkest recesses of his mind. It was gone, and yet, still there, maddeningly out of reach.

He listened, holding his breath for a moment. Standing up, he walked over to one of the windows and pulled back the drapes. Hightown was quiet and still. The moon was at its zenith in the ink-blue sky; the time of night when it was both early and late. He let the drapes fall back into place and leaned against the wall, his eyes fixed on the door at the top of the stairs.

A shout? Someone calling his name? Fenris's voice? Is that what he'd heard? But why would Fenris call out for him? Nobody could have entered the mansion without Hawke's knowledge. Could they?

Striding over to the left set of stairs, he ran up them and stopped outside the door. What if he was wrong? He couldn't just go charging into Fenris's bedroom, could he? But he couldn't ignore what he'd heard…or thought he'd heard. Still not sure of what he was going to do, he took two steps closer to the door and listened carefully for a few minutes.

Nothing. Not a sound. Hawke exhaled and shook his head. As he turned away, his heart seized up as Fenris's bedroom door was opened with a creak.

"Fenris!" Hawke exclaimed, backpedalling. "I-I wasn't going to come in; I just…I thought…"

Fenris stood like a statue in the doorway; his eyes were flat and dull and seemed to stare right through Hawke, and he wore an odd expression that sent a chill through the mage.

"…Fenris?"

"I cannot sleep," Fenris said sluggishly. "Is something wrong?"

"No, I just thought…" Hawke didn't finish the sentence. For some reason, he stopped himself. "Um…I can't sleep, either. I was thinking of making some tea. Would you like some?"

Fenris watched Hawke's face closely for a sign of deceit, trickery; there was none. There was something in Hawke's eyes, though, and Fenris knew it: knowledge, a mutual knowledge that neither man cared to give voice to.

Fenris, still in the doorway, nodded.

Hawke nodded in return. "I'd welcome some company, if you're up to it," he said to the elf, waving his hand toward the fireplace. Getting no answer from Fenris, Hawke made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen.

When Hawke returned with the tea, Fenris was sitting on the settee with one of the blankets wrapped around his shoulders, staring at the fire. Hawke offered a cup to Fenris, and, when the elf didn't respond, Hawke placed it on the floor next to Fenris's feet.

Hawke sat down on the settee, and, taking the other blanket, he wrapped it around his own shoulders. Having no real interest in his tea, he set his own cup down on the floor, sat back and also stared at the fire. And he waited.


	27. Chapter 27

Fenris and Hawke had sat together, staring at the fire in silence, for a long time. So long, in fact, that Hawke had eventually fallen asleep. Whether Fenris had or not, Hawke didn't know. He woke just as the sun was starting to rise; the drapes had been opened and the fire refreshed. Fenris was gone, the blanket he'd had wrapped around his shoulders now draped over Hawke's legs. The tea Hawke had made for them both sat, untouched, on the floor.

Hawke stood up and stretched; he then pulled up his breeches and smoothed down his night shirt. A glance up at Fenris's room revealed that the door was open. Hawke went up the stairs and quickly ascertained that Fenris was not there, although he had been earlier, as his bathtub had been used. Hawke then checked the dining room and the kitchen, still not finding Fenris. Although Hawke knew that Fenris probably had things to do around the mansion, he couldn't help feeling a little concerned. After briefly considering and ultimately rejecting going to search for Fenris, he gathered together the remaining ingredients he'd brought and started to prepare another dose of Fenris's medicine.

As Hawke wrapped the prepared ingredients in muslin ready to be steeped, he heard the creak of a floorboard from above. Fairly certain it was Fenris moving around up there, Hawke wondered what he was up to. After another internal debate, Hawke's curiosity got the better of him, and he left the kitchen, headed up the stairs and walked to where he assumed was above the kitchen.

It didn't take long for Hawke to find Fenris: he followed the sounds of doors being opened and closed, and eventually spotted the elf, who was fully-armoured, stalking along a corridor with his sword drawn. Hawke watched him from a distance for a minute or two, not knowing whether to announce his presence or not. Instead, he cleared his throat softly. Fenris immediately tensed and spun around.

"Sorry, Fenris; I didn't mean to make you jump," said Hawke, staying where he was at the end of the corridor, although he wasn't so far away that he didn't notice Fenris's pallor. "What are you doing?"

"Investigating." Fenris turned his back on Hawke and continued to open and close doors as he went along.

"Do you need a hand?" offered Hawke.

"No."

Hawke took in a deep breath through his nose. Fenris had retreated into his shell; today was not going to be easy, it seemed. "Well, when you've finished, I'm afraid I have another dose of medicine for you. And I need to look at that foot." With a glance at the elf's feet, Hawke noticed that Fenris was wearing his slippers.

"I will be down shortly," said Fenris as he disappeared around a corner.

Nodding, Hawke turned back and headed downstairs to the kitchen.

Having prepared the medicine, Hawke took it through to the reception hall, where Fenris sat waiting on the settee. He'd removed his slippers and his sword rested against the wall.

Hawke sat down on the settee and passed the cup to Fenris, who noticed that Hawke held a second cup in his other hand. "Must I take two doses?" asked the elf in a flat and weary monotone.

"Oh, no; this is water, to take the taste away," Hawke told him. In the daylight, Hawke noticed that Fenris's skin had taken on a slightly grey hue and that the elf's hands shook as he held the cup. It was clear to him that Fenris's infection was advanced, and he hoped that the medicine would be sufficient. If not, Hawke would have no choice but to use magic on Fenris, although he hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Fenris eyed the cup with suspicion and shot an angry glance at Hawke. "I drank some of this last night, and I feel _worse_ this morning. Does this actually work? What exactly have you _put_ in this?"

Fenris's words cut into Hawke like a knife, but he did his best not to show it, even though he felt heat stir in his blood. "That is the nature of an infection, Fenris; you'll feel worse before you feel better…"

"'Worse before I feel better'? Just what sort of medicine do you practice? Do you actually know what you're doing?"

Hawke stood up, his own anger coiling tightly in his stomach. He took a deep breath, knowing deep down that Fenris's hostility was not directed at him. "Actually, Fenris, I _could_ use magic to treat the infection, but I'm trying alternatives first, as you've told me that magic causes you pain. This treatment does work, but it takes a while, that's all. You have quite a severe infection. Personally, I'd much prefer to treat it with magic, but I didn't think you'd appreciate that."

Fenris fell silent and continued to stare at the cup. Hawke snatched it from the elf's hand and took a gulp of it, pushing it back into Fenris's hands, wincing as he forced the vile concoction down his throat. "There. Convinced I'm not trying to kill you, now?"

Visibly shocked, Fenris looked up at Hawke with wide eyes. "I didn't…I wasn't implying…"

"Just drink it," ordered Hawke, placing the cup of water on the floor. "I'm going to make some tea."

As Hawke left the room, he didn't see Fenris stand up and take a few steps towards him before stopping himself. Hawke, livid with himself for reacting to Fenris's sour mood, wanted to put as much distance between the two of them as possible, feeling a burning need to set something on fire. Both men were angry and upset, that was obvious, but while Fenris seemed to turn his distress inwards, Hawke's manifested itself in a more tangible way, as cutting remarks and the desire to harm something.

He slumped against the counter in the kitchen, feeling furious and guilty and out of control. Fenris and Hawke weren't really angry with each other, but, until they'd discussed what had happened the previous night, they would continue to use each other as verbal and emotional punching bags.

Hawke was now certain that Fenris had called out to him during the night. Last night, when Hawke's mind had been fogged by sleep, he'd been unsure, but now, in the cold light of the morning, Fenris's voice played out in his mind with perfect clarity. It _had _been Fenris's voice, but as Hawke had never heard it before: there had been a strident, urgent quality to the elf's voice, as though he was in fear of his life or his sanity.

Hawke suspected, though, that if he raised the subject, Fenris would either retreat further into himself or would lash out verbally. Perhaps, though, that was exactly what Fenris needed to do. If Fenris continued to take his anger out on Hawke, though, would Hawke be able to contain his own frustration? His own hurt?

He would have to. This wasn't about Hawke and his ego and bruised feelings.

"Get a bloody grip!" he scolded himself.

Leaving the kettle untouched, he quickly left the kitchen and walked along the corridor leading to the main hall, stopping dead as he spotted Fenris walking toward him with his head down. Hawke noticed that Fenris was limping on his right foot.

"Fenris, I-"

The elf's head jerked up. "Hawke-"

They slowly walked closer to each other, both of their sentences unfinished. They stopped a few feet apart, both looking at the floor.

"Fenris, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I know you didn't imply…that was me being an idiot."

Fenris shook his head sadly. "No…it's not your fault. As usual, I have expressed myself inappropriately…inadequately. I have projected my anger onto you, when you did not deserve it." Fenris's eyes, full of desperation and panic, slowly travelled up to meet Hawke's.

"Fenris…it's…" Hawke took a step closer to the elf, wanting nothing more than to wrap his arms around him and pull him close. "I think we need to talk, don't we?" he asked gently.

"What about?" asked Fenris uncertainly.

"About what happened last night."

"But nothing happened last night."

"That's what you're so upset about, isn't it?"

"I am not…" Fenris's eyes fell to Hawke's chest, and his posture slackened.

"Let's just stop pretending, Fenris. Both of us."

Fenris turned away and Hawke followed as the elf made his way back to the reception hall. He watched in concern as Fenris sat upon the settee, but quickly rose again, walking to the windows.

"So, what happened, Fenris?" began Hawke, who stood next to the settee but did not sit. "Did you…have a bad dream?"

A sigh came from the window, but Fenris didn't answer. Hawke took a few steps closer. "I heard you, Fenris. I heard you call my name. That was why I came up to your room."

Hearing a shaky exhalation from the elf, Hawke took a few more steps towards him; he now stood next to the fireplace, not far from the window. From where he stood, he could see that one of Fenris's hands was fisted at his side, and the other clung to the drapes. Hawke knew there would be trouble if he pressed Fenris, but that didn't stop him.

"What did you dream about?"

"I do not wish to talk about this. It is done. Leave it at that."

"You may not _want_ to talk about it, Fenris, but I think you _need _to."

The drapes moved as they were pulled taut by Fenris, the elf's shoulders rising and falling quickly, the tension in him almost tangible. Slowly, Fenris's head turned toward Hawke; his eyes were no longer filled with uncertainty and pain, but with fury, bright and fierce.

"Do not presume to know what I _need_, Hawke," the elf growled.

Hawke's stomach flipped, knowing that Fenris was on the edge, but he didn't back down from his questioning.

"Did you dream about Danarius?"

"What?" Fenris released the drapes and turned fully to face Hawke.

"I'm-I'm just assuming, as you wouldn't really remember much else."

"You are overstepping the boundaries of being a 'friend', Hawke," warned Fenris, his voice thick and broken, his posture stiff and tight. "You assume much, yet you know little."

"Then tell me, and I'll know," said Hawke.

"Must I repeat myself? Did you not hear me when I said I did not want to talk about this?"

"I think you're desperate to talk about this."

"_Do_ you?" Fenris's upper lip curled, revealing gritted teeth. "Do you never get tired of knowing what is best for everyone, Hawke? Do you not get tired of always being right, of being the beneficent champion of the downtrodden, the oppressed? Of people like _me_?"

"And don't you ever get tired of being a martyr, Fenris? Of being a victim?"

"You know _nothing_!" Fenris yelled, charging forward towards Hawke, almost knocking over an occasional table. "You know nothing of the life I have lived, of the things I've had to do, of-of…" He leaned on the small table, panting heavily, a suggested illumination of his markings imbuing his skin with a blue tint. "You need to leave, Hawke," he urged, his voice softer but with a dangerous edge.

Hawke shook his head. "No."

With alarming speed, the table was hurled through the air, smashing against the far wall. "I said, _get out_!"

Although Hawke was startled, he knew deep down that Fenris wouldn't hurt him, but he decided he'd pushed Fenris far enough. Putting a little distance between them, he moved over to the settee and took a seat, saying nothing more.

Fenris stared at the ruined table and raised his trembling hands up to his face, the glow of his markings having waned. "Hawke…" He turned to face the mage, who sat quietly on the settee, looking at his own hands which were clasped together in his lap.

Hawke glanced up at Fenris and shook his head. "No more apologies, Fenris. You have nothing to be sorry for."

At a loss for words, Fenris closed his eyes, his arms hanging at his sides. How many more times would Hawke tolerate this behaviour before deciding he'd had enough? Before he deserted him? Although Fenris knew it was inevitable that Hawke would abandon him eventually, still, he couldn't stop himself from testing Hawke at every opportunity. One day, he knew, Hawke would fail one of his tests and would leave, which could only be for the best. Fenris had come to depend on Hawke far too much, and refused to admit to himself how important Hawke had become to him.

Slowly, Fenris walked over to the settee and slumped down next to Hawke. "Hawke…what Danarius did to me…I-I cannot speak of it. I…cannot."

"Why?" asked Hawke softly. "Because you think it was your fault?"

"It was," Fenris answered immediately.

"No, it _wasn't_," Hawke said angrily.

"I was not strong enough, Hawke. I could have, I should have…resisted, fought against him, but I did not. I…_allowed _him to…to…"

"Fenris…"

"He intimated that there was a time when I was complicit in…" He shook his head.

"Well, of course he'd say that! He could have told you anything; how would you remember?" Hawke sat up straight, his hands tightly clamped together. "That has nothing to do with it, anyway, Fenris; let's say that _was_ true, at one time. The fact is, there came a time when you _didn't _want it, and he just continued, regardless. At least, I'm assuming that's how it happened. _Is _that how it happened?"

"I do not remember ever welcoming his…attention, Hawke, and yet he would seem hurt when I spurned him; I do not understand. If that were true, if I had indeed…consented, then I am no better than him. Sometimes, I feel so confused, so angry, and yet without those feelings, I have nothing. They are the only things that make me feel alive, Hawke; they are all I have."

Hawke, deeply touched that Fenris was finally opening up to him, kept his own wrath firmly in check and glanced beside him, where Fenris sat. Unclasping his hands, he reached over and gently took one of the elf's hands in his. Fenris started slightly, but otherwise didn't move, keeping his gaze fixed firmly ahead.

"They're not all you have, Fenris."

He knew he'd done it now; he'd shown his feelings. He and Fenris had shook hands before, but this was different. Male 'friends' didn't hold hands. He waited for Fenris's hand to be snatched away; he waited for what seemed like ages, but Fenris's hand remained where it was, not gripping Hawke's hand, but not pushing it away, either.

Hawke eventually released Fenris's hand and stood up, pushing his hands through his hair with a sigh. "Well, Fenris; let's take a look at that foot of yours. I noticed you were limping."

He heard the quiet clearing of Fenris's throat, and turned around. Fenris had sat up straight and held his right foot up. Hawke got down on one knee and supported Fenris's ankle with one hand, resting Fenris's foot on his knee.

"Oh," Hawke mumbled as he examined the elf's foot.

"Oh?"

A large, pus-filled lump had appeared in the crack on Fenris's heel. "This will need to be incised and drained," he told the elf. "I'd feel a lot better if Anders did this. I've never had to do it before."

"But…you know what must be done?" asked Fenris.

"Yes, but…"

"Then I would have you do it, Hawke."

"All right." Hawke placed Fenris's foot back on the floor and stood up. "I'd better warn you, the procedure will be quite painful without magic, but you should see a huge improvement once it's been drained."

"I understand," Fenris said with a solemn nod.

"I need to go and see Anders, anyway; I'm out of a few ingredients for your next batch of medicine. If he's not at the clinic, I'll have to go over to The Gallows and see Sol instead, so I may be gone for a while. Oh, and Varric and I have to meet Javaris Tintop; he said he'd wait for us at the Qunari compound. I need to speak to Varric anyway," he muttered quietly.

"I will go with you," Fenris said, pushing himself up, stopped by Hawke's outstretched palm.

"No; you need to rest. I'll make you something to eat, and then I'll go."

"I cannot just sit here and do nothing," Fenris protested.

"That is _exactly _what you have to do," Hawke said sternly, and Fenris sat back on the settee. "And _no _training while I'm gone. Promise me."

"Very well, Hawke," Fenris said with a groan. "I will remain here and do _nothing_."

"See that you do," said Hawke with a small smile. "I'll be back shortly."

When Hawke returned with a pot of tea, a plate of toast and a bowl of porridge, Fenris was still on the settee and had elevated his right leg on a foot stool.

"Is it throbbing?" Hawke asked, setting the tray down on the floor.

Fenris shrugged, reluctant to admit he was in pain.

Hawke walked over to the far wall, gathered the pieces of the small table that Fenris had broken, and threw them onto the fire.

"You enjoy this, don't you?" Fenris asked him.

"Enjoy what?"

"Looking after people. You are very good at it, Hawke."

Warmth tickled Hawke's stomach, and he bowed to the elf. "Thank you." He cleared his throat and walked over to the door. "I'll be off, now. Erm…Fenris, I need to ask you something. Just tell me this one thing, and I'll never mention it again. Unless _you_ want to talk about it, that is."

"What?" Fenris asked with a frown.

"I need to know…what does Danarius look like?"

Fenris's frown deepened into a scowl. "Why?"

"I need to know what he looks like if we're to find him, Fenris."

"You are…serious about this, then?"

"Deadly serious."

Fenris's scowl faded, replaced with a look of uncertainty, and he toyed with his hands. "He is…a little over six feet tall, of medium build, with long, grey hair which he wears in a ponytail. He has a beard, which is also grey, but no moustache. I do not know his age, but he is perhaps in his sixties. Pale blue eyes."

"Thank you, Fenris. I'll see you later." He turned and opened the door.

"Hawke…for how long will you be gone?" asked Fenris, looking up.

"Hopefully I'll be back by lunchtime, as you need your next dose of medicine then, and I have to sort out that foot of yours. I'll be as quick as I can," he promised, and Fenris nodded. "Make sure you lock up after me."

~o~O~o~

The lantern outside the clinic was lit, and Hawke entered, but there was no sign of Anders within. He walked over to the far end of the clinic and called for Anders through the door. After a few minutes, Anders emerged, clutching some papers.

"Hawke…I didn't expect to see you, today. Everything all right?"

"Yes, I'm sorry to disturb you, Anders." He glanced at the stack of paper that Anders held. "Busy?"

Anders placed the papers down on the ground and handed one to Hawke. "Tell me what you think of this, Hawke."

"What is it?"

"Just read it."

Hawke began to read. It was a list of actions that needed to be taken to secure the freedom of mages throughout Kirkwall and Thedas. Hawke skimmed over it and went to hand it back, but Anders told him to keep it.

"You're getting pretty involved with the underground movement then, Anders?"

"Of course I am, Hawke; somebody has to, don't they?"

Hawke wondered for a moment if that was an accusation; Anders had asked Hawke many times to assist him with helping apostates, but so far Hawke had resisted, knowing that he couldn't give his family a better life if he was locked up in The Gallows.

"Good for you, Anders," he said dispassionately.

Taking the hint, Anders nodded and folded his arms. "Something you wanted me for, Hawke?"

"Actually, yes; I'm out of a few ingredients for Fenris's medicine and was wondering if I could borrow some? I'll replace them."

"Oh…not a social call, then?" Anders asked with that _undertone _that Hawke had heard before.

"Look, Anders, if you don't want to give them to me, I'll go to The Gallows. No skin off my nose."

"No…no, it's all right," Anders replied, a little taken aback. "What do you need?"

"A pinch of powdered silver, if you have any, and some concentrated elfroot."

Anders nodded. "Yes, I think I can stretch to that."

"I'll pay you for the silver; I know it's expensive," said Hawke.

"No need." With a sigh, Anders went down the stairs leading to his private room, appearing again a short time later with a small phial and a larger one, which he handed over to Hawke.

"Thanks," Hawke said, and he eyed Anders for a moment, waiting for him to say something.

"What's the matter, Hawke? Did you want something else?"

"Aren't you going to ask how Fenris is?"

Anders's eyes hardened and his jaw clenched. "And why would I do that, Hawke?"

"Well, because he's_ ill_. It's obvious that you don't care, as you disappeared pretty quickly last night, but I thought you might at least pretend."

"Fuck, Hawke!" Anders turned away and clasped his hands together behind his neck before he turned back. "Do you want to know where _caring _got me? You may not be aware of this, as you were unconscious due to having been stupid enough to overdose on lyrium, but I _tried _several times to help your _friend_. He made it _very_ clear to me that he didn't want me anywhere near him, so don't come in here accusing me of not caring, Hawke!"

"You know he doesn't like being touched, Anders…"

"He doesn't mind _you _touching him, though, does he?" snapped Anders.

"That's because I've made an effort to get to know him."

"No! I _have_ tried, and I've had enough! I tried to treat him last night and I protected him while he was fighting, and then he told me to keep my filthy hands off him!"

"You used magic on him? That's probably why he was angry with you, then," said Hawke. "Magic causes him pain. His master used it as a means of control."

"And how was I supposed to know that?" Anders exclaimed, and then his eyes narrowed a little. "Wait…are you _sure _about this, Hawke? He could just be telling you that, you know; it doesn't sound very plausible, does it?"

Hawke folded his arms, his own expression hardening.

"Well, you seem ready to believe everything he tells you," Anders went on. "Shouldn't you just step back for a minute and think? It would be a perfect excuse for a _mage _not to touch him, wouldn't it?"

"I _have _touched him," Hawke replied, knowing full well that his answer would provoke Anders. "Several times, in fact."

"Hawke…" Anders pushed back a few errant strands of his hair and folded his arms again. "Don't you think…what are _you_ getting out of this? From where I'm standing, you're doing everything for him. He just seems to be taking from you without giving anything back. What's he doing for _you_?"

"Is that what friendship means to you, Anders? Feeling obligated to return a favour someone does for you? That's not friendship: that's business."

"You _know _that's not how I feel, Hawke. You and I…well, I _think_ we're still friends. I just never see you anymore."

"Hang on," Hawke argued. "You're the one who told me you were so busy at the clinic! I told you to let me know if you needed any help, but I haven't heard from _you_! Don't try and put all the blame on me!"

"And why do you think that is, Hawke? Every time I see you, you're with him!"

"_What_?"

"I know when I'm not wanted, Hawke!"

"This is ridiculous!" Hawke fumed. "Can you hear yourself? I'm not as if you and I are lovers, is it? If I were, maybe your reaction would be understandable! You need to accept that I'm friends with Fenris. It pains me that you don't get on, really it does, but there's nothing I can do about it, is there?"

"I'm wasting my time, aren't I?" Anders said in exasperation. "Can't you see he's using you? He despises everything you are, but you're _useful _to him. He _knows _I can see him for what he is, so he's latched on to you. If you can't see that, then I guess there's nothing _I _can do about that, is there?"

"You're right, Anders," Hawke said with a nod, reaching into his pocket. "You _are _wasting your time." He grabbed Anders's hand and pressed a few coins into his palm. "That's for the silver."

"I don't want any money, Hawke!" Anders objected as Hawke walked out of the clinic.

"Use it to buy supplies," Hawke called back.

Anders watched him leave and covered his face with his hands, before kicking a nearby crate in frustration and stomping down to his private room, slamming his door.

~o~O~o~

Hawke almost sent the door of the Hanged Man flying off its hinges as he entered and made a beeline for the bar. "Whiskey," he barked at Corff. "And don't water it down, either."

Seeing that Hawke was in no mood for banter, Corff quickly served him and discreetly sent one of the barmaids to go and knock on Varric's door. Although Corff knew and respected Hawke, he didn't want any trouble.

Not long after Hawke had sat down, Varric joined him and shook his hand as he sat down. "Didn't expect to see you here this early, Hawke," he said, his eyes wandering down to Hawke's empty tumbler. Raising his arm in the air to attract the barmaid's attention, he called for two more measures.

"How's the elf, Hawke?" enquired Varric, and Hawke snorted at the fact it had been the first thing Varric had thought of, a far cry from Anders.

"He's not brilliant, but I think I can help him," answered Hawke. "I'll tell him you asked about him. I've just been to the clinic to get a few more ingredients for his medicine. He hates it," he said with a grin.

"Poor sod," chuckled Varric. "And how's Blondie?"

Hawke's eyes dropped to the table and he shrugged. Without having to ask, Varric could see the source of Hawke's tension.

Their drinks were brought over, and they toasted each other before knocking them back. "So, ready to go to the compound, Hawke?" asked Varric. "Or do you have other stuff to do, first?"

"No, I'm ready when you are, Varric," Hawke answered, staring into his glass thoughtfully. "I do want to talk to you about something first, though."

"Sure, Hawke; what is it?"

Hawke put his glass down and sat up straight. "You know a lot of people, don't you, Varric? Here and further afield?"

"I do," answered Varric. "What do you need?"

"I want Fenris's master found. I want to know exactly where he is, and what he's up to."

The usually-unflappable dwarf raised his eyebrows in surprise and leaned forward. "That's no small thing you're asking, Hawke; these Tevinter mages are usually very heavily guarded, you know; wasn't the elf his bodyguard? If he has any more like him, we won't be able to get near him."

"I don't want anyone going after him, Varric; I just want to know where he is, where his lackeys are, if he's planning on sending anyone after Fenris, that sort of thing. Anything would be helpful, Varric. If you need bribe money or anything, let me know."

"That won't be necessary, Hawke. A lot of people owe me. Does the elf know you're doing this?"

Hawke nodded.

Varric exhaled and rested his head on his hand. After a few moments of thought, he nodded his head. "I think I know just the person," he mused. "Leave it with me. Just be aware this may take some time, Hawke; this…Darius? Could be anywhere."

Hawke reached over the table and shook Varric's hand again. "Danarius." He passed Varric a piece of paper. "That's his name and a physical description. He hails from Minrathous, but, like you said, he could be anywhere."

Varric read the note, nodded and slipped it into his pocket. "It's a start, Hawke." He stood up. "I'll put this somewhere safe in my room. Your round."

"Varric, if you manage to locate Danarius, I'll buy every round for the next year," he promised.

"I want that in writing," Varric chuckled as he left the table.

"You'll have it," said Hawke, his smile disappearing as his friend left the lounge.


	28. Chapter 28

Anders stomped down the stone steps leading to his small private room where he sat on his hard wooden bunk, head in hands. He knew he'd angered Hawke, perhaps irreparably damaging their friendship, but he was equally irate that Hawke couldn't see Fenris for what he really was: a brutal, capricious killer who also happened to despise mages. Instead, Hawke seemed to be going out of his way to accommodate Fenris, and, Anders suspected, had started to develop feelings for him. Had Hawke taken leave of his senses? Had he forgotten that he was a blood mage?

Anders squeezed his eyes closed and imagined the moment when Fenris would inevitably discover Hawke's secret, and pictured the elf's fist driving through Hawke's flesh and crushing his heart.

"_I will not allow that to happen, Anders."_

"How could you possibly stop it?"

"_The elf always stands at my side during battle. I have encouraged him to do so, and he complies because he distrusts me. We can use that to our advantage. I will observe him as he observes me. I will not permit him to slay Hawke."_

"But I don't understand, Justice. You have no more love for blood mages than I do."

"_Hawke has renounced his powers and his connection with the demon he treated with. I have watched them in the Fade; he bitterly regrets their deal and will have no part of her."_

"You've watched them? Can you interact with them at all?"

"_I could, if I so wished, but I do not."_

Anders sat up straight and frowned.

"_I know what is in your mind, Anders, but it is inconceivable. Hawke chose to deal with a demon and it would be unrighteous to slay it without just cause."_

"But you _could_ slay it if you wanted to?"

"_I could, but there is no reason for me to do so. Only when a demon attempts to beguile or harm an innocent will I intervene. If a deal has already been brokered, it is not my place to interfere."_

"Do you know what the deal was?"

"_I do not."_

"Could you find out?"

"_That is not my affair. Why do you not ask Hawke?"_

"Oh, come on, Justice. He wouldn't tell me the time of day at the moment, would he?"

"_Anders, you must make things right with Hawke. We have few enough allies as it is; it is imperative you do not allow yourself to become disjunct from those who will aid our cause. Hawke has already made a name for himself within your realm and I believe that one day he will rise to a powerful and important position. Would you have one so eminent as your foe?"_

"No, I suppose not. I just…when I see him with that elf…"

"_Trivialities, Anders. Let him have his fun with the elf. I will remain vigilant. Hawke will not be harmed. On that, you have my word."_

Anders sighed and the image of Hawke and Fenris in an embrace flashed through his mind.

"_Have a care, Anders. I suspect there is more to your dislike of the elf than the concern of a friend. Your heart must be hard and your resolve unbreakable, your temperance irrefutable. The road before us is long; do not lengthen it further still. You must put these thoughts aside."_

"I'm sorry, Justice. I know you're right; it's just…well, I'm-I'm lonely. Sometimes…"

"_The path we have chosen is a lonely one, Anders, but I concede that mortals have urges that demand to be sated. Fornicate if you must, but I impel you to sever all emotional ties. You agreed to this, Anders, when we resided in Amaranthine. Do not waver now."_

"Sever all emotional ties? Like I did with those at the Keep? With Nate? Oghren? They were my friends, Justice. It wasn't easy to leave them."

"_We discussed this. You agreed to leave Vigil's Keep, never to return. You have known Hawke for much less time than you did the Grey Wardens."_

"Yes, I know. It should be easier, right?" Anders stood up and paced back and forth. "When I escaped from the Tower, I missed my friends, but I knew it had to be done. When I left the Keep, I missed everyone there; I still do. I know what we have to do, Justice, but I've never been any good on my own. I need a friend, I need a…companion."

"_I am here. You are also surrounded by the people of Darktown."_

"I don't expect you to understand this, Justice, but it's possible to be surrounded by people and still feel lonely. None of those people are really my friends. It makes me feel good to help them, but sometimes they take me for granted."

"_They are all potential allies, Anders. When the denizens of this realm are forced to choose sides, there are many who will rally behind you."_

"That's not why I do it, Justice!"

"_Reasons are of little import. I understand that you feel a need to help others, and I would do nothing to hinder that. What you must start considering, Anders, is how the ones you aid can also aid _you_. It is only just that you are fairly requited for your efforts."_

Anders sat back down and released his breath in a short burst. "I wish I could see things in black and white as you do, Justice."

"_Do not despair, Anders; clarity of thought will come, in time. Now, go to the surface and find a vessel with which you can satiate your base appetites. Find Hawke and make amends. You will feel better for it."_

"A vessel?" Anders chuckled in spite of the way he felt. "You still make me laugh, Justice, even after all this time."

"_How so? I do not understand what you find so amusing."_

"Never mind. Come on, then. Let's go and find that vessel."

~o~O~o~

As soon as the door closed behind Hawke, Fenris padded over and locked it, as Hawke had told him to. He then paused, his hand still resting on the key in the lock.

As Hawke had told him to.

With a deep frown, he walked over to the settee and sat down, just catching sight of Hawke through the window as he left the grounds of the mansion. Fenris's gaze fell to the floor as he recalled his and Hawke's first meeting and how things had changed between them since then. If Hawke had _told_ him to do something only a few weeks earlier, Fenris would no doubt have reacted fiercely. Now, though, he did as he was_ told_ without a thought. Since when had he allowed himself to take directions – orders – from a mage? Hawke, though, was unlike any mage he'd ever encountered; in fact, Fenris was forced to admit, there were times when he forgot that Hawke was a mage at all.

The abomination, Anders, wore his status as a mage like a badge: with almost every sentence he uttered, Anders reminded everyone of his status and the struggles and inequalities that came with that status. Even when the abomination was silent, he exuded an aura of arcane power.

There was something about Anders that made Fenris uneasy; something unwholesome, degenerate. He had observed, on occasion, that when Anders had smiled, his expression had twisted into a forced grimace when the mage believed no one else was looking. Where Anders's friends heard the warmth and mirth in Anders's voice, Fenris heard only the barely-perceptible hard and jagged edge.

Fenris had seen the wickedness and corruption of mages first-hand, and he recognised these latent qualities in Anders; they had not yet fully emerged, but Fenris knew a day would come when Anders's jovial and caring façade would no longer be able to contain them, and Fenris was resolved to protect his new friends when that day came.

Hawke was one of those friends, and the one he had become closest to. Although Fenris had at first suspected Hawke of having a sinister agenda, he no longer felt that way; Hawke's unremitting generosity and patience had finally convinced Fenris that not all mages were inherently evil. Hawke elicited in Fenris none of the feelings that Anders did; in fact, Hawke inspired feelings of a different kind entirely, although as Fenris had no experience of those feelings, he couldn't quite make sense of them.

Fenris had not allowed anyone to physically touch him since he had fled Minrathous, not even the Fog Warriors. As Qunari, physical contact was unimportant, even unwelcome, to them anyway, so it had never been an issue. To humans, however, making a connection to someone in that way _was_ important; vital, even. Hawke shook the hand of everyone he met, kissed his sister and mother on the cheek, ruffled the hair of the children of Lowtown who begged him for a silver, before slipping them two. He was a man who gave freely without asking for anything in return; indeed, Fenris knew he could never repay Hawke for everything he'd done for him, but he also knew that Hawke neither expected nor required any such recompense.

When Hawke had clasped his hand, for the briefest moment, his old fear had returned, but had quickly faded. Fenris was, despite his best efforts not to show it, in a weakened state. If Hawke did have unsavoury intentions toward him, Hawke could easily have overpowered him. Hawke knew that magic harmed and incapacitated Fenris, and yet had gone to great lengths to avoid using magic on him when treating his foot. Hawke had pressed him firmly to talk about his dream, but had known exactly when to stop.

Then, in a seemingly simple gesture, Hawke had held his hand. He had not forced his proximity upon Fenris: he'd kept his distance, but had still initiated physical contact. The holding of hands, though, was something that Fenris knew was not a common practice in the Free Marches between friends, particularly male friends. There had been more than simple friendship and comfort in that gesture; in fact, Fenris had suspected for some time that Hawke wanted more than friendship from him. Fenris was a very observant man who watched people constantly, and, on occasion, he'd caught Hawke's eyes lingering on him for just a moment too long, and had noticed the light in them when Fenris had made him laugh, as well as the hurt when Fenris had lashed out at him.

Hawke had had ample opportunities to take advantage of him, to make his dreams of Danarius's abuses once again a reality, and, when Fenris had first suspected Hawke's feelings, that fear had been very real to him. Now, though, he no longer felt afraid of Hawke, nor did he fear his touch. When Hawke had taken his hand, Fenris had flinched for a second because never before, in his memory, had he been touched in such an intimate way. Danarius's touches had always been in far more personal and private places, and yet there had been no feeling of intimacy in them.

When Hawke made no further attempts at touching him, however, he'd relaxed a little and had wanted so much to squeeze Hawke's hand, to sanction his touch, but there had only been one reason to do that – to put Hawke at ease – and so many reasons not to.

Even if Fenris _was_ capable of returning Hawke's feelings, the thought of which caused panic and confusion to rise in his gullet like bile, Fenris knew that he was completely unsuitable for someone like Hawke, and would only cause him pain, or worse. Fenris was broken and damaged, and, thanks to Danarius, disgraced and sullied. Hawke had given him so much, and, as much as Fenris wanted to return Hawke's kindness, he felt he had nothing to give; he was empty and devoid of feeling anything other than hatred and bitterness, and driven by nothing but his need for retribution.

Hawke was full of life, laughter and love, and even if Fenris was capable of ever returning any of the feelings he suspected Hawke had for him, Hawke deserved better. Fenris knew that he should continue to push Hawke away, but he could no longer stand to see the hurt in Hawke's eyes when he did so. Fenris had startled even himself when he'd thrown the table against the wall; an action born out of his own frustration and confusion, and one last attempt to drive Hawke away, but Hawke had not taken the bait, and somehow, Fenris had known that he wouldn't.

And now, Hawke planned to hunt Danarius down before he found Fenris, something that Fenris found both comforting and unnerving. He had not been surprised at Hawke's desire to protect his friends, but the thought of Danarius being actively sought, and perhaps eventually lured into a trap – if he could even be found – made Fenris's insides turn to liquid. What would happen if and when he came face-to-face with his former master? What would the consequences be to Hawke?

Walking over to the window, Fenris sat on the window sill and gazed outwards, allowing his attention to wander. His eyes closed as the memory came to him of the Fog Warriors, who lay bleeding and dying at his feet, their eyes full of admiration and respect for their former friend-turned-killer. Stoic and dignified to the end.

He then forced himself to picture Hawke alongside them, but the Hawke in his mind was not as accepting of his fate as the Qunari had been. He thrashed around in agony, blood pumping out of the gaping wound in his belly, and screamed at Fenris to end his suffering, his own eyes full of horror, confusion, hurt and so many questions that he was unable to give voice to.

_Why, Fenris?_

Fenris rubbed his eyes and blinked, willing the image to disappear, but it was still there even when he opened his eyes. Now that he had seen it, it would never leave him.

Could he really do that to Hawke, even if Danarius commanded him to?

Fenris didn't know what the future would bring, but it was thanks to Hawke's efforts that he even had a _chance _of a future. Whatever it took, he would protect Hawke, even at the cost of his own life. He would fully co-operate with Hawke and would do whatever he suggested.

Whatever Hawke told him to do.

~o~O~o~

After Hawke and Varric had visited the Qunari compound, and, after Hawke had picked his jaw up from the ground long enough to actually speak to the fearsome Arishok, the two friends left the compound ten sovereigns richer, thanks to the Qunari leader, who had commanded the slippery Tintop to pay them if he wanted to leave with his head attached to his body.

"Well, Hawke," said Varric gleefully as he received his cut. "After this is shared out, we'll only be about ten sovs away from what we need for the expedition. I tell you, I've been having wet dreams over the look on Bartrand's face when we take the money to him."

Hawke pulled a disgusted face and sidestepped away from the dwarf. "That's a mental image I could have done without, thank you very much."

Varric chuckled and pocketed his money. "You coming for a drink?"

"Just a quick one, then. I need to get back to Fenris; he'll be dying to take his medicine," Hawke answered wryly.

"Well, tell him I said hello," Varric said. "You going to join the game tonight, or will you be too busy playing nursemaid?"

"I'm not sure, Varric; I need to perform a procedure on Fenris's foot when I get back, and I think I'd prefer to keep an eye on him." Hawke paused and stroked his beard, thinking. "We _could _have the game at the mansion, actually; what do you think?"

"Would the elf agree to that?" asked Varric.

"I think he's really restless," Hawke answered. "He can't train, and, when I've finished with his foot, he won't be able to walk much for the rest of the day. It might be nice for him to look at an ugly mug other than my own."

Varric nodded. "Sure, Hawke; if I see that Donnic guy around, I'll invite him, too."

"Great, and I'll ask Sebastian if he wants to join in as well," added Hawke.

"Does that mean we'll have to play for fun _again_?" groused Varric.

"I would have thought you'd be relieved to be playing for fun, after Fenris completely humiliated you the last time."

"Mage, I _told _you, that was beginner's luck!"

"He held his own against the men at the barracks, as well," Hawke said with pride in his voice. "I think you should be very scared."

"Let's hope your 'lucky' elf can back up your cockiness, Hawke," said Varric with a sly look. "How about Blondie? You going to invite him?" he asked casually.

It was a loaded question, and Hawke knew it. "I think he's busy at the clinic," he answered shiftily.

From the corner of his eye, Hawke could see that Varric was watching him. They walked on in silence through Lowtown for a few minutes before Varric spoke again. "Tell me to mind my own business if you like, Hawke, but what's the deal with you and Blondie? The two of you used to be good friends, but lately…I dunno."

Hawke came to a halt and sighed. "I don't _know_ what the 'deal' is with Anders, and that's exactly what the problem is," said Hawke. "It's almost like there are two sides to him. On one hand, he's a very caring man who sacrifices all of his spare time to heal people for free, and yet on the other, there's a very narrow-minded, petty side to him as well. He also has quite a ruthless streak; you weren't there at the time, Varric, but he was perfectly willing to murder an innocent templar in order to free those blood mages at the coast. I think it was at that point I started to wonder about him. I just don't know what to make of him anymore."

"You think Justice could be influencing him?" Varric guessed.

Hawke shrugged. "From what I've seen of Justice, he's a pretty decent and moral spirit. Yes, he's narrow-minded and inflexible in a way, but there's no way he would have condoned murdering an innocent man; that was all Anders, from what I could tell. How can someone who has dedicated his life to healing the sick have such disregard for the life of someone who happens to be at odds with his beliefs? I know he had some bad experiences with templars when he lived in Ferelden, but…" He sighed and shook his head. "There's something about him that just doesn't add up. I can't put my finger on it." Hawke then remembered the time he'd observed Anders talking to himself during their visit to The Gallows, but decided not to share that with Varric.

"Do you think he'll still go into the Deep Roads with us?" asked Varric.

"I think so; at least, I hope so," Hawke said distractedly with another sigh. "We _do _need him. I guess I'll try and be a bit nicer to him, eh?"

"You worried about him, Hawke?" Varric asked astutely as they walked on.

Hawke glanced sideways at Varric and nodded slowly. "I am. He's been so serious lately, and he's spending a lot of time on his own. I'd _love _to invite him to the game, but he and Fenris together would just be asking for trouble."

"Maybe they need to get rat-faced together, break the ice?" Varric began, but Hawke laughed mirthlessly, shaking his head.

"No; they hate each other. Well, actually, Fenris doesn't trust him and Anders is resentful of that. I just wish I could make them see how much they have in common; they've both been victims of an oppressive regime, and have both sacrificed a great deal for their freedom. If only the two of them could put their heads together, they could accomplish so much…as things stand, though, I'd be worried about them being together in the same room."

Varric nodded and again glanced up at Hawke. "That's a real shame, Hawke, but don't get expending too much energy worrying over it. They're both grown men, and if they don't get on, they don't get on. You have enough on your plate as is it. You need to do what you've gotta do, and let them do the same. Nothing you can do to change it."

"You're very wise for a dwarf, you know," Hawke said with a half-smile.

"Don't let it get around, whatever you do," Varric mumbled out of the side of his mouth as they reached the Hanged Man. "When you've had your drink, I'll start putting the feelers out on this Danarius asshole."

Hawke reached for Varric's hand and shook it, slapping the dwarf's shoulder with his other hand. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate this, Varric. I'll make it up to you somehow."

"Just make my wet dreams a reality, Hawke; that's all I ask."

Varric laughed as Hawke hastily released his hand. "You make me sick," Hawke muttered, and entered the Hanged Man, shaking his head, also laughing.

After a quick drink and a further talk about Danarius, Varric arranged a time to call at the mansion, on condition that Fenris agreed; Hawke promised to let Varric know if there was any change to their plans. Hawke rose to leave, but was quickly stopped by Varric, who grabbed his arm and pushed him back into his seat.

"What's the matter?" asked Hawke.

Varric nodded toward the back of the pub, where Isabela had a man, just out of their sight, pinned against a wall, nuzzling his neck.

"Am I meant to be surprised?" Hawke asked with a shake of his head.

"Take a closer look, Hawke," Varric said quietly.

Hawke craned his neck as Isabela threw her head back and laughed flirtatiously, and she and her male companion emerged into the main lounge of the pub, adjusting their clothes.

Immediately, Hawke's face turned to stone. "You _must_ be joking."

"Maker, woman, what have you done to my back?" joked Isabela's temporary consort.

"You're a healer, aren't you? So _heal_ yourself," she drawled, throwing a wink at Varric and Hawke as she sauntered past them towards the exit.

Anders's eyes darted over to the two friends sat at the table, and his fleeting look of apprehension was quickly replaced with a self-satisfied grin. "What are you having, fellas?" he offered, approaching the bar.

"Nothing. I'm just leaving," Hawke said standoffishly, rising from his seat.

"Come on, Hawke, just the one, to show there are no hard feelings, eh?" Anders cajoled as Varric also rose, sensing that trouble was imminent.

Hawke stopped dead in front of Anders and fixed him with an icy glare. "What are you doing, Anders?"

"What am I _doing_? Having fun, that's what. Is something wrong, Hawke? Something you want to say?"

Hawke folded his arms and remained silent as Varric positioned himself between the two mages, smoothing down several strands of hair that had lifted away from his head. "That's a great idea, Blondie. Let's all have a drink. I'm buying."

"You knew we'd be here," Hawke continued, not taking his eyes off Anders. "Are you expecting me to tell you that Isabela isn't good enough for you? So you can then call me a hypocrite for not heeding your advice about Fenris? Is that what your game is?"

"My _game?" _Anders spluttered._ "_I don't have a _game_, Hawke; as I just said, I was looking for a bit of fun. You never seem to want to go out anywhere lately, like we used to, so I guess I have to make my own entertainment, don't I?"

"You fucked Isabela to make a point, Anders? Why didn't you just ask me if I wanted to go out?"

"Well, do you? Come on, Hawke; we'll have a night at the Rose, like we used to. Remember the last time?" Anders laughed at the memory. "We had a lot of fun, didn't we? Angus has been asking where you are, you know."

Hawke's head fell back and he huffed. "No, not the Rose. I don't really feel like it."

"Well, here, then," Anders suggested, his smile leaving his eyes but staying on his lips. "How about tonight? Let's get pissed and forget all this silliness. What do you say?"

Varric's eyes flitted between the two men as a brief moment of silence took the conversation, and, feeling the hair on his arms stand on end, he noticed the line of Hawke's mouth harden.

"You _know_ I can't go out tonight, Anders; I'm looking after Fenris."

"Tomorrow, then!" Varric exclaimed with false cheer, clapping his hands together, and Hawke was relieved that Varric made no mention of the card game they had planned that evening. "The elf should be on the mend by then, huh, Hawke?"

"He should, but we'll have to see. I'm sure I can pop in for an hour or two, though," replied Hawke with a sigh, suddenly unsure of himself. Had he misjudged Anders? Why had he been so quick to accuse Anders of point-scoring?

"That's settled, then," Varric declared with some relief, eager to separate the two mages as the air inside the Hanged Man had become muggy and saturated with static, the same sensation that heralded a thunderstorm. "You go and see to the elf," he instructed a now-quiet and uncertain Hawke. "Blondie, as I said, I'm buying."

Without looking at Anders, Hawke nodded at Varric, silently communicating that he would see him later, and left the pub without another word.

~o~O~o~

Hawke had to wait for several minutes before the door to the mansion was opened.

"My apologies, Hawke," said Fenris, waving his hand to invite Hawke inside. "I was in the kitchen, and did not hear you at first."

Hawke entered, and, as Fenris closed the door, he sniffed at the air. "What are you cooking?"

"A leg of lamb. I have sealed it, as you showed me."

Hawke looked at Fenris sternly. "You didn't have any lamb before. Have you been out? I thought I told you to rest?"

"You told me not to train, Hawke," Fenris explained with a wide-eyed look. "You did not forbid me to leave the mansion."

"Fenris…did you just make puppy eyes at me?"

A lilting smile brightened the elf's pale face. "Elves do not make puppy eyes."

"Oh, really?" laughed Hawke. "You could have fooled me. Look, I'm not telling you what to do or anything, but you really should be resting."

"I had to do something, Hawke," Fenris protested. "I am not used to inactivity."

"Well, I'm an expert at it," quipped Hawke, taking a small knife and a bundle of rags out of his pack. "When I've seen to your foot, you're _going_ to rest, even if I have to tie you to the settee. I need to sterilise these," he said, heading towards the kitchen.

"I will go with you," said Fenris, following close behind. "I should prepare the vegetables."

"I can do that," Hawke began.

"Let me do _something_," Fenris argued. "You are already doing so much for me. Just…let me do one thing for you."

Still facing away from Fenris as he walked to the kitchen, Hawke smiled and felt warmth flood through him. "Oh, all right, then. Anything to avoid the _puppy eyes _again. I don't think I could stand it."

"As I told you, Hawke…"

"Yes, I know. Elves don't make puppy eyes. My arse," he muttered.

Laughing, they entered the kitchen, where Fenris checked on the meat and began to chop vegetables. Hawke put a large pan of water on to boil, into which he dropped the knife and the small bundle of rags. They conversed pleasantly, and Hawke mentioned the card game, making it clear that if Fenris did not feel up to it, Hawke would call it off. Fenris, however, liked the idea and readily agreed.

It wasn't until Fenris enquired if Hawke had seen Anders, or instead had needed to travel to the Gallows for his ingredients, that the conversation lulled. It did not escape Fenris's attention that at the mention of Anders, Hawke made a very brief reply and then changed the subject, telling Fenris that he'd stopped by at the chantry and invited Sebastian to join them later.

The tone of the conversation changed after that. Although still polite and pleasant with each other, there was no more banter, no more teasing between the two men. Fenris watched Hawke carefully and discreetly, determining that he was distracted at the very least, if not outright troubled.

Having boiled the rags and knife for a short time, Hawke was satisfied that they were sufficiently sterilised and placed the pan in the sink, fishing them out with some tongs that had also been boiled. He then added some cold water to the pan and washed his hands thoroughly in it before squeezing the excess moisture out of the rags.

"I'm going to hang these over the fire to dry," he told Fenris. "It shouldn't take long. Are you ready?"

With a nod, Fenris followed Hawke out of the kitchen, his curiosity burning brightly, and he wanted to ask Hawke what was troubling him, but by the time they reached the reception hall, Hawke was all business.

"Sit at the far end of the settee, please, Fenris. I need you to be able to put your right leg up on it," he said, walking over to the fire, where he draped the damp rags over the mantelpiece.

Fenris complied, and Hawke then walked over to the settee, sitting at the opposite end, where he placed a clean cloth over his thigh and removed several small bottles from his pack.

"Would you put your right leg on this cloth, please?" Hawke asked, and Fenris raised his leg, allowing Hawke to help a little.

Hawke took up the small knife in his right hand and held Fenris's foot with his other hand. "I'm going to cut into your heel," he explained to the elf. "That shouldn't hurt too much; in fact, you should feel an immediate easing of the pressure you must feel in your heel. I'm afraid it _will _be painful, though, when I clean it afterwards. I'll be as gentle as I can, I promise."

"I know you will, Hawke. Please proceed."

"Here goes, then." Hawke took a deep breath and carefully sliced into the large yellow lump that had formed on the elf's heel. He then set the knife down and gently squeezed and massaged around the incision. Fenris winced slightly.

"Sorry, Fenris. I have to make sure all of the pus is out."

"It is fine, Hawke. You were correct: I can feel the pressure easing already. I am very grateful for this."

Hawke smiled thinly and dabbed at Fenris's foot with the cloth as he continued to squeeze his heel. Fenris watched him as he worked and did not interrupt him as he concentrated, but when Hawke reached for one of his bottles, Fenris broke the silence.

"Hawke…you appear to be unusually pensive. Is something troubling you?" he asked.

Hawke glanced up briefly before turning his attention back to Fenris's heel. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be rude."

"I did not think you rude, Hawke; I merely noticed that you have been rather quiet since your return."

Sighing softly, Hawke coated a clean corner of the cloth with the contents of one of the small bottles. "Just a few things on my mind, that's all. Nothing important."

Fenris considered dropping the subject for a moment, feeling that Hawke's business was his own, but his concern got the better of him. "I would not consider the fact you are perturbed to be unimportant, Hawke. If you wish, you may discuss it with me. If, that is, you are prepared to share it with another. Perhaps it will ease your mind?"

Hawke smiled genuinely this time. "I doubt you'd be interested, Fenris; it's to do with Anders. But I think you've already guessed that. Hold still for a moment; I'm going to clean the wound. This is going to hurt. I'm sorry."

"I understand," said Fenris. As Hawke pressed the elfroot-saturated cloth against the wound, Fenris grimaced but bore the pain well.

"Nearly done, Fenris. I just want to clean it again, to be on the safe side."

While Hawke folded the cloth and again coated a clean part of it with elfroot extract, Fenris pushed himself up a little.

"Anders does not approve of our friendship, does he?"

Surprised, Hawke again glanced up, but this time held Fenris's gaze. Sinking back against the settee, he shrugged. "There is that, but he's…acting strangely. I'm concerned about him."

"Strangely? How?"

"I can't even explain it," Hawke admitted with a sigh. "He's just…different." He shook his head. "I know what you'd advise me to do, Fenris; stay away from him," he said with a strained smile.

"No, I would not advise that," Fenris replied, and Hawke frowned in confusion. "My opinion of him is irrelevant. If he is your friend, and you care for him, then you cannot be expected to simply 'stay away from him'."

Hawke's frown deepened; that was the last thing he'd expected Fenris to say.

"If I may offer…" Fenris paused and shook his head. "No; it is not my place."

"No, please, Fenris; speak your mind."

Fenris exhaled through his nose and clasped his hands together. "I would only counsel that, while you should of course care for your friend and steer him away from peril, that you do not become_ too _involved in his troubles. You are strong, and he is weak, and he may take you down with him. That is all I will say on the matter. Heed or disregard my advice as you will."

Hawke's mouth gaped open, stunned at the difference between Fenris and Anders's attitudes. Anders's advice to renounce Fenris seemed to have originated from his own ignorance, selfishness and apparent jealousy. Fenris, on the other hand, who had myriad reasons to distrust mages, particularly a possessed mage, did not expect Hawke to abandon Anders at all, knowing that Hawke cared for him. Furthermore, he had advocated that Hawke should do his best to protect Anders, but without losing himself in the process. In spite of everything Fenris had endured at the hands of mages, his wisdom and generosity of spirit moved Hawke deeply, leaving him speechless for a moment.

Noticing Hawke's expression, Fenris's face fell. "If I have spoken out of turn, Hawke…"

"No," Hawke answered quickly. "It's not that…no, I'll…I'll think about what you've said, Fenris. Thank you."

Fenris nodded once, and Hawke sat up straight, clearing his throat. "Right; one more time, Fenris, then I'll strap up your foot."

After cleaning Fenris's foot for a second time, Hawke gently set the elf's foot aside and went over to the fireplace, where the rags were almost dry. He then dressed Fenris's foot, and instructed him to keep his leg elevated. Fenris thanked him sincerely for his care.

"I'm going to the kitchen to clean up, and I'll check on dinner," he told Fenris. "I'll prepare some of your lovely medicine, as well," he joked.

"I cannot wait," Fenris answered with a smile.

"Just relax, and I'll be back shortly," said Hawke, and he left the room.

By the time Hawke had made the medicine and tidied the kitchen, more than half an hour had passed, and he returned the hall, medicine in hand, to find Fenris dozing on the settee. Slowly and quietly, he walked over and crouched down next to the elf, placing the mug on the floor.

"Fenris?" he whispered.

When Fenris didn't stir, Hawke gently placed his hand on the elf's arm, but stopped short of shaking him. Instead, he looked closely at Fenris's face, marvelling at how young and free of care he looked. There was no scowl, no frown, no sneer. He looked quite beautiful.

"Fenris?" he whispered again.

Still, he did not wake, and Hawke watched Fenris's chest rise and fall, his eyes moving to a lock of hair that had fallen over the elf's left eye. His stomach in knots, his hand moved of its own volition and gently pushed the stray piece of hair to the side.

"Maker, Fenris, do you have any idea…" Suddenly aware that he would not want Fenris to catch him looming over him if he awoke, Hawke sprang to his feet and released a shaky breath. He then turned and headed back to the kitchen to finish preparing dinner, unaware that his every step was followed by a pair of moss-green eyes.


	29. Chapter 29

Deciding to leave Fenris to sleep, Hawke busied himself preparing dinner, completely unaware that Fenris had not been asleep at all. When the meat was done, he removed it from the oven and left it to rest upon the counter. He then went back to the reception hall, where a relaxed Fenris was still lying on the settee, but was now 'awake'.

"Dinner's nearly done," Hawke told him. "I'm going to bring that table in from next door. We can use it to eat, and then we can leave it in here for the game later on."

"Let me help you," offered Fenris.

"No, I can manage," replied Hawke. "The whole point of bringing the table in is so that you don't have to walk in there. You need to keep that foot up for the next few hours."

"But what if I need to answer a call of nature?" Fenris asked.

"Tie a knot in it," Hawke joked.

"It's not that long, Hawke," smiled Fenris, and Hawke burst out laughing.

"What have I told you about putting yourself down?" Hawke scolded him, and went into the dining room, still laughing.

Fenris watched Hawke as he dragged the large dining table over to the settee, and then returned to the dining room for some chairs, which he placed around the table. He then sat at the end of the settee, taking care not to bump Fenris's foot.

"We can have our reading lesson here, as well, if you feel up to it."

"I do," said Fenris. "I look forward to it."

"Not bored of it yet, eh? Well, we're nearly at the end of the alphabet, Fenris: today we'll cover the letters 'R' and 'S', which means you'll be able to write your own name at the end of the lesson."

Fenris allowed himself a small smile, and Hawke also smiled at the look of pride on the elf's face. "You're doing really well, Fenris: by tomorrow you'll have learned your letters, and we can get you reading properly."

A serious look came over Fenris, then, and he glanced down at his hands. "I will never be able to repay you for everything you've done for me, Hawke."

"Yes, you will," Hawke said. "You can learn to read, and then I'll have someone else to be boring with and talk about books all the time. That's the only reason I'm teaching you, you know."

"I will do my best, Hawke," Fenris replied with a knowing smile.

Hawke rose. "I'm going to dish up, now. I'll make us some tea, as well. I recommend that you lay off the wine for a couple of days; it'll help your body to fight the infection more efficiently. Did you drink your medicine?"

"Yes, Hawke. Here," Fenris said, passing him the empty mug.

"Thanks. Are you comfortable? Does your foot feel all right?"

Fenris nodded. "I am very comfortable, thank you. The pain is gone."

"Fenris…will you let me know if ever you're in pain, or feel unwell, again? There are sometimes alternatives to magic, you know."

"I will, Hawke. And thank you again."

~o~O~o~

After Hawke and Fenris had dined together, Hawke cleared the plates and cups away, still refusing to let Fenris help, despite his protestations. They then commenced Fenris's reading lesson. Fenris was progressing so well that Hawke continued right through to the end of the alphabet, and neither of them noticed that the sun was setting, so engrossed in the lesson were they. At the end, Hawke tested Fenris, and his reward for passing was to be allowed to use the latrine. Naturally, this strongly motivated Fenris, and he passed with flying colours.

When Fenris returned, Hawke examined his foot again, and, using some of the spare rags from atop the mantelpiece, he re-dressed Fenris's foot, as the short walk to the latrine had caused the wound to start weeping.

Shortly afterwards, just after seven bells, a loud rap sounded on the front door of the mansion.

"Didn't Varric say he would call at eight bells?" Fenris asked, sitting up straight on the settee. "He is early."

"I'll go," offered Hawke, as he was nearest to the door, and, as he stood up, he didn't fail to notice the tension in Fenris's posture. He walked over to a window and looked out. "It's Sebastian," he told Fenris, who exhaled and stood up.

As Hawke opened the door and invited Sebastian in, he wondered if Fenris reacted in the same way when _he _called on him.

"Good evening to you both," Sebastian said with a friendly nod, removing a bottle of wine from under his arm. "I believe it's customary to bring a gift when invited to someone's house. I trust it'll be put to good use." He handed the bottle to Fenris, who took it with a smile and a small bow. "Hawke told me that he's been tending to your foot, Fenris. I wish you a swift recovery."

"Thank you. You are very kind," said Fenris, gesturing for Sebastian to sit; the archer joined Hawke at the table.

"You don't drink alcohol, do you?" Hawke asked Sebastian as they took a seat. "You've brought wine that you can't drink?"

Sebastian shrugged his shoulders and laughed. "That is true, Hawke; however, I feared that flowers or chocolates might give the wrong impression."

"_I_ wouldn't have minded chocolates," Hawke said with a pout.

The three men shared a laugh, and Fenris placed the bottle on the table for later. "Would you like some tea?" he offered.

"Oh, that would be most welcome, Fenris; thank you," replied Sebastian.

Hawke rose from his chair and pointed to the settee. "Sit down, you," he ordered Fenris with a cheeky smile. "You're supposed to be resting that foot." Fenris mock-scowled and shook his head, but did as Hawke said.

"I'd make the most of it, Fenris," Sebastian advised him. "As soon as you're on the mend, I have no doubt that Hawke will have you running around the Free Marches, chasing after mercenaries."

"No doubt," said Fenris with a sly smile at Hawke.

"Actually, we'll be heading into the Deep Roads fairly soon," Hawke told Sebastian. "We just need to get a bit more money together." Hawke's face dropped a little, then, and he turned to Fenris. "Um…I don't think I've ever asked you if you wanted to join us on the expedition, Fenris…I…just sort of assumed…" He coughed, and then looked at Fenris expectantly. "What-what do you think, Fenris? Would you, um, like to, uh, accompany us?"

"_Us_?" asked Fenris sharply, arching an eyebrow.

"Yes…uh, Sebastian has very kindly offered to go along…"

Fenris glanced at Sebastian, and his eyebrow disappeared beneath his hair. What Hawke didn't see was his wink at Sebastian. "And who else have you asked, Hawke?" the elf demanded.

"Well…Varric's coming along. Of course he is; he's the one who, um, well, it was his idea. Sort of. And, uh…Anders," he said in almost a whisper. "He's _got _to come; he-he's a Grey Warden and all that. Fenris, I'm sorry I never actually asked you…it's just that I couldn't imagine not having you along and I've kind of factored you into my plans. Without actually asking you. Erm…" Hawke cleared his throat and smiled nervously.

"You asked all of those people _before _you asked me?" Fenris asked gruffly. Sebastian covered his mouth with one hand to hide his smile. "So, let me get this straight…I am fourth choice?"

"What? Maker, no! I mean…it wasn't like that, Fenris, honestly!" As Fenris and Sebastian started sniggering, Hawke gasped dramatically and placed his hands on his hips. "Fenris! Don't you _ever_ do that to me again!"

"It _was_ quite funny, Hawke," chortled Sebastian.

"Funny?" spluttered Hawke, making a concerted effort not to laugh himself. "I've never been so scared in my bloody life!"

"Do you really think I would allow you to enter the Deep Roads without me?" laughed Fenris, flashing a toothy smile at Hawke.

Hawke folded his arms and shot a stern glance at Fenris. "You're lucky Sebastian is here, else I'd be calling you a very bad name, Elf."

"Oh, don't let me stop you," Sebastian said. "I'm sure it's nothing I haven't heard before."

"All right then…how about _Asinus _for a start?"

"I cannot argue with that," laughed Fenris, and Hawke's heart swelled as Fenris wiped a tear from his eye, his shoulders rocking with mirth.

"I must confess, I haven't heard _that_ one," said Sebastian.

"It means _arse_," Hawke told him with a pointed glance at the elf.

"Ass," Fenris corrected him.

"Same difference," mumbled Hawke, and he threw a wink of his own at Fenris before heading to the kitchen.

Hawke took his time making the tea. He'd noticed that Fenris was comfortable in Sebastian's company, and he wanted Fenris to make as many friends as possible. Now that Varric had begun making enquiries as to the whereabouts of Danarius, Hawke wondered if a few people's noses would be put out of joint by that, and was more concerned than ever for Fenris's safety. Having more friends would not only boost Fenris's confidence, but also increase the number of people he had to call on if ever he found himself in trouble; Hawke would not always be around.

Hawke's main concern, however, was now that Fenris's foot was on the mend, Hawke would no longer have an excuse to stay at the mansion, and Fenris would once again be on his own, leaving him more vulnerable, especially at night. Although Aveline had posted extra guards in Hightown, Hawke was not entirely convinced that a couple of ex-templars would be effective against a blood mage who didn't need to rely on lyrium for his powers. Fenris was by no means anonymous in Kirkwall, and surely Danarius must know that he now resided at the mansion?

Hawke's eyes widened and he raised his head as an idea suddenly formed in his mind. Perhaps there _was _a way for Fenris to become anonymous _and _well-protected…but would Fenris agree to it?

The more Hawke thought about it, the more he liked the idea: it was the perfect solution, with the potential to allay all of his fears over Fenris's safety. All he had to do was convince Fenris. With a hopeful grin on his face, and a nervous flutter in his belly, he quickly set about making the tea.

By the time he'd taken the tea through, Varric had just arrived, and, much to Hawke's delight, so had Donnic. Inhibiting a crafty smile, Hawke set the tea tray down and walked over to greet the two men.

"Fenners!" Donnic exclaimed with a hefty slap to the elf's shoulder, passing him another bottle of wine. "I've brought a little something to wet our whistles with."

"And what have _you_ brought along, Varric?" Hawke queried as he arrived beside the dwarf, noticing no bottle, or anything else for that matter, under Varric's arm.

"Hey, I'm providing the eye candy, Hawke!" protested Varric. "What more do you want from me?"

"You? Eye candy?" mocked Hawke, looking him up and down with disgust. "If you're the finest specimen the male sex has to offer, that's the most compelling argument I've heard yet to go straight!"

"If you must know," said Varric with a sniff as the men walked over to the table, "your sister happens to think I have rather _distinguished_ features."

"Are you sure you heard her right, Varric?" teased Donnic. "Maybe she meant 'disfigured'."

"Or 'disgusting'," added Hawke, taking a seat on the settee next to Fenris.

Varric scowled at his friends as he took his own seat between Sebastian and Donnic. "Anyone else care to insult the dwarf?"

"If you wish," Fenris said quietly. "Disastrous?"

Hawke and Donnic fell about laughing, and even Sebastian had a hard time containing his mirth. Varric folded his arms and smiled grimly. "I'm gonna wipe the floor with you, Elf."

"We shall see," replied Fenris, tickled that he'd made his friends laugh.

"Will you two be playing together again?" Donnic asked Hawke and Fenris, and Hawke looked at Fenris.

"I believe I shall play alone, tonight," Fenris answered, smiling at the mage.

"Oh, that's fighting talk, Elf!" chuckled Hawke, overjoyed to see Fenris so relaxed.

"Speaking of fighting, Fenris, the Guard is recruiting at the moment," Donnic said with a furtive glance at Hawke. "Just thought you'd like to know."

Fenris smiled and shook his head, and, when Hawke made no protest, Donnic frowned. "Nothing to say to that, Hawke? I'm trying to recruit your 'lucky elf' again, you know."

"Fenris can speak for himself," replied Hawke. "If he wants to join the Guard, that's up to him."

Donnic cocked his head to one side and looked at Hawke curiously.

"You beat me fair and square in the beer-drinking contest," Hawke explained with a shrug. "I know when I'm defeated."

Fenris, who along with Sebastian was pouring wine for the others, listened to the exchange but didn't notice the look that passed between Hawke and Donnic.

Intrigued at Hawke's apparent change of heart, Donnic glanced over at Fenris and waited for his wine, taking it with a grateful nod. "You know, Fenris, Aveline is doing away with single patrols. If you joined the Guard, you could end up as my partner. Wouldn't that be grand?"

Sebastian stood up and passed a glass of wine over to Varric and Hawke, before taking his seat again.

"You not drinking, Elf?" Varric asked Fenris, who was sipping at his tea.

"Hawke has advised me not to drink alcohol for a day or two, while my foot is healing," he explained. "I will drink tea, along with Sebastian."

Varric nodded and looked under the table at Fenris's bandaged foot. "How's it doing?"

"Much better, thank you. Hawke has done a fine job."

"What do you say, Fenris?" Donnic interjected, eager to get back to the subject of recruitment. "When your foot's better, why don't you come along for a trial? I tell you, some of the recruits are so full of themselves; I'd love to see you put them in their place!"

Fenris smiled modestly and shrugged his shoulders. "I am flattered, but I have been invited to join a Deep Roads expedition; _today_, as a matter of fact." To his side, he saw Hawke laughing sheepishly. "I cannot say for how long we will be gone. I do not think I can make any other commitments at the moment."

"Does that mean you might consider it when you return?" Donnic asked excitedly.

"I did not say that," Fenris said with a smile.

"For how long will you be in the Deep Roads, Varric?" Donnic asked the dwarf.

"Who can say? Could be weeks, even months. It all depends on what we find down there."

"That's fair enough, but when you come back…" Donnic leaned forward on the table. "Fenris, I'm asking you seriously. Try out for the Guard. We'd be honoured to have a man with your skills among us. You _know_ I'm not going to shut up about this."

All eyes turned to Fenris, who shrugged again. "I must confess, I have not seriously thought about this, but the idea is not without appeal. The expedition must be my first priority, however." He turned to face Hawke. "What do _you_ think?"

"It's completely up to you, Fenris," said Hawke, careful to contain his excitement. "Think about it, though; while Varric is looking into…" He stopped himself, then, wary of saying too much in front of Sebastian and Donnic. "Maybe we should talk about this later."

Fenris looked around the table. "It's fine, Hawke. I don't mind them knowing."

"Are you sure?"

"Donnic should know about this, anyway; perhaps he will reconsider his position once he learns the truth."

"I doubt it, Fenris," said the guard. "Come on, tell us."

Hawke waited for Fenris to speak, but the elf glanced at him and remained silent. "You want me to?" asked Hawke. Fenris nodded.

"Well, as you're aware, Fenris escaped the custody of his former master and is a fugitive in the Tevinter Imperium. As slavery is illegal in the Free Marches, however, Fenris is_ not_ a fugitive here; I want to make that absolutely clear."

"I know that, Hawke," said Donnic.

"An attempt was made to capture Fenris last month; in fact, that's how I met him," Hawke told them. "Danarius, his former master, was behind it, but has since gone quiet. We don't know where he is or what he's up to. Varric has started looking into that."

"I have a few people on it," Varric elaborated. "One is leaving tonight for the Vinmark Mountains. There's only one safe place to enter Kirkwall via the mountains, and there's a patrol stationed there; maybe they'll have some information. If my man has no joy there, he'll continue on to Tantervale at the border; he has family there, so it's no bother for him. I have a few old contacts who are now in the Imperium, and he'll get a message to them.

"There's also the possibility that Danarius, or at least his cronies, arrived here by sea; it's unlikely, but I'm not ruling anything out, so I have someone sniffing around at the docks. Danarius may also have holed up in Ferelden, somewhere; you never know. I also have one or two people keeping their ears to the ground here, in Kirkwall."

"Varric…I am…deeply grateful," Fenris said quietly with a bow of his head. Varric waved his hand dismissively.

"Forgive me for saying so, Fenris," said Sebastian with a frown, "but this Danarius character seems to be going to an awful lot of trouble in order to find one slave."

"That is precisely what Hawke said on the night we met," Fenris replied, and he told Sebastian and Donnic about his markings, and how prized he was considered to be in the Imperium. He also told them of his life as a slave, and of Danarius's brutality, but left some details out; only Hawke knew certain details of his former master's depravity, and even _he _didn't know everything, yet.

"I have seen your abilities," Sebastian said, remembering the time at the coast. "Are these markings of yours unique, then?"

"I believe so," Fenris answered, his eyes dropping to the table, "unless Danarius has…no, I do not even want to think about that." He and Hawke exchanged troubled glances.

"This bastard needs to be stopped," snarled Donnic.

"Quite so," Sebastian agreed. "I will pray for your success in this venture, Fenris. I am also at your disposal should you ever need me."

"You have my profound thanks. All of you," Fenris said, glancing around the table. "So, you see, Donnic, my joining the Guard may not be a good idea, after all. I would not wish to place your fellows in danger while I am a possible target."

"I disagree, Fenris," Hawke opined. "You could become completely anonymous within the Guard, and you could reside at the barracks, instead of here."

"Yes, and you could wear a helm, Fenris," Donnic suggested. "Not all of the guards do, but nobody would know your identity if you wore one."

"Would I not be conspicuous in the uniform of the Guard?" asked Fenris. "You are at least a foot taller than me."

Donnic shook his head. "Not all of the guards are as tall as me. Height isn't a requirement to join, you know. Some of my fellow guards are not much taller than you. You wouldn't stick out, trust me."

"You know, you two could be onto something," Varric said animatedly. "Elf, if you joined the Guard, I could put the word out that you're still living here, at the mansion, when in fact you're at the barracks. I could have this place trapped to the hilt!"

"What do you think, Fenris?" asked Hawke. "You'd certainly be a lot safer. It all depends on whether joining the Guard would appeal to you, and if you had plans to eventually settle in Kirkwall."

After a moment of thought, Fenris looked across at Hawke. "I will consider it. Perhaps we could speak of it later?"

"Yes, of course," Hawke replied, feeling a warm glow in his belly, that Fenris had singled him out for advice.

"Now, are we playing cards, or what?" demanded Varric. "I have an Elf to wipe the floor with."

"At your service, Dwarf," Fenris answered with a bright smile.

~o~O~o~

After a very enjoyable card game, during which Varric made a respectable showing, if not quite wiping the floor with Fenris, Sebastian thanked the men for a splendid evening, and announced that he wished to return to the chantry before its doors were closed for the night. Donnic offered to escort him there on his way back to the barracks, as he had an early patrol the following morning. Before they left, Donnic once again urged Fenris to think seriously about joining the Guard, and he and Sebastian warmly bade them all goodnight.

Varric stayed for a while to talk business. "Came across a potentially well-paying job today, Hawke," he said as the three men once again took their seats, and he removed a leaflet from his pocket, unfolding it and sliding it across the table. Hawke picked it up and read it.

"Some Orlesian noble's wife has taken off somewhere," the dwarf explained for Fenris's benefit. "I talked to him on the way here. To be honest, I can't blame her; he was a real lowlife, and seemed more concerned about how he looked, and what his wife's family would think, rather than the fact she could by lying in a ditch somewhere. Still, he's offering a reward for any information. I told him we'd take care of it. I also helpfully took down the rest of the leaflets he'd posted around town."

"You think of everything, don't you?" Hawke laughed. "Any leads?"

"He said we should start at the Blooming Rose; apparently, she had a 'friend' there."

"The Blooming Rose?" Fenris asked with a glance at Hawke. "Is that not where…"

"Where you killed that blood mage, yes," Hawke answered quickly, knowing very well that wasn't what Fenris meant.

"That was not to what I was referring, Hawke." Fenris's eyebrow rose again, and Hawke wriggled in his seat, heat creeping into his cheeks.

"I may have…visited there…one time. Maybe."

"_One_?" Fenris folded his arms, and Hawke clapped a hand over his eyes, embarrassed.

"All right, then, _three_," Hawke confessed. "And the time you came along was the _third_; I haven't been back there since. What's it have to do with _you_, anyway, Elf?" he teased.

"Nothing at all," Fenris replied with a playful glint in his eyes. "But still, you told me. Why was that, Hawke?"

Varric, sensing that he was a third wheel, rose and stretched his arms, feigning a yawn. "Think I'd better hit the hay, fellas. You staying here tonight, Hawke?"

"Erm, I suppose I'd better, just in case Fenris has any trouble with his foot. If that's all right with you, Fenris?" The elf nodded, and Hawke stood up. "I'll walk you back, Varric," Hawke offered.

"Well, you can't do that, Hawke, because then the Elf would insist on coming with us so he could walk _you _back, and he needs to rest that foot, right? I have Bianca to keep me company, anyway. Meet you in the morning, Hawke? We can take care of this," he said, waving the leaflet.

"I'll be there," Hawke promised, and he and Fenris saw Varric to the door, bidding him goodnight.

Fenris closed the door and locked it, and Hawke walked over to the table, collecting the empty glasses. "I'll go and wash these, and I'll prepare your last batch of medicine for today," Hawke said.

"Thank you. I will take a look around," said Fenris, collecting his sword from where it rested against a wall.

Hawke knew there was no point in trying to stop Fenris from conducting his nightly check. "Just shout if you need me."

"I will."

Fenris disappeared through a door next to the dining room and began his sweep of the mansion. Hawke glanced down at the glasses in his hands and then at the doorway through which Fenris had gone. His stomach flipped over as he remembered the way Fenris had looked at him when they were discussing the Blooming Rose. Had Fenris been _flirting_ with him? Varric had certainly seemed to think so, as he'd made an immediate, and not very subtle, excuse to leave.

And why did Hawke feel so awkward now that Varric had gone?

"Ugh," he growled under his breath. "Of course he wasn't flirting with you! Why would he?"

Cursing his over-active imagination and nervous stomach, Hawke walked through to the kitchen, and, as he prepared Fenris's medicine, his thoughts turned to Anders. Although things were tense between them, Hawke still considered Anders to be his friend, and felt guilty for not inviting him to the game. If he had done that, though, he had no doubt that there would have been some kind of altercation either between Fenris and Anders, or Hawke and Anders, which would have made matters much worse than they were currently.

Hawke knew that tomorrow night would be important, perhaps a make-or-break point in his and Anders's friendship, but he was determined not to lose Anders as a friend. He would make sure they had a fun night together, and would convince Anders that he wasn't being left out in the cold. He had to do that, though, while impressing upon Anders how important Fenris was to him. Both men would be accompanying him into the Deep Roads, and there would be no room for animosity there, where none of them could escape from each other. Again, his stomach fluttered. Why did everything have to be so bloody complicated?

When he'd finished in the kitchen, Hawke walked back to the hall and moved the table and chairs back into the dining room, leaving Fenris's medicine on top of the mantelpiece. Fenris returned a short time later and the two of them sat on the settee next to the fire.

"Everything all right, Fenris?" asked Hawke, passing him his medicine.

"All is well, Hawke." Fenris took a sip and shuddered as the foul-tasting drink slipped down his throat. He then yawned and sank back onto the settee.

"You've had a long day, Fenris; maybe you should turn in for the night?" Hawke suggested.

Fenris turned around and glanced up at his bedroom. He then turned back to Hawke and shook his head. "I am quite comfortable here. Perhaps later."

"Are you worried that you'll have another bad dream?" Hawke asked him. "I mean…I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"It's all right, Hawke. I don't mind." Fenris sighed, drank the rest of his medicine and set the mug down on the floor.

"Do you…have these dreams often, Fenris?"

"Not often, no…not the ones of Danarius, anyway."

"You have other dreams, then?"

Fenris paused, and his body seemed to slump. "There is something I dream of frequently…sometimes, when I dream of it, I am afraid to go back to sleep, lest it repeats."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Hawke asked gently. "Would it help to share it with someone?"

Fenris took a deep breath and turned slightly toward Hawke. "It would not help, no, but I will share it with you, if you wish. I should warn you: it is not a pleasant story."

"All right, Fenris. Take your time."

"I dream of the time when I received my markings, Hawke. The procedure…it seems my mind must replay it over and over. How I wish I had lost that memory along with all the others."

"What happened?"

Fenris swivelled toward Hawke a little more and raised one of his hands, showing Hawke his markings. "These marks are mistakes," he began. "I should not have had any markings at all, but I was Danarius's test subject for the procedure, if you will, and errors were made."

"Errors? What do you mean?"

"The lyrium was injected into my veins and was then heated using magic," Fenris said matter-of-factly. "That way, the lyrium would travel through my body, where it would be burned upon my blood vessels." He ventured a glance at Hawke, who had turned white, his mouth agape.

"Y-you were…_conscious _during this?" Hawke stammered.

"I do not remember all of it, but I believe I passed out a few times. Danarius, however, kept reviving me."

"Maker, Fenris…I-I can't even begin to imagine how that must have felt…" Hawke instinctively shifted a little closer to Fenris, wanting to be nearer to him, in the hope that his proximity would offer Fenris some kind of comfort.

"The pain was…extraordinary," Fenris said in a hushed tone, staring at his upturned palms. "Then, something happened that Danarius did not anticipate." He paused for a moment and took a deep breath. "The trauma to my body caused some of my blood vessels to collapse, which in turn caused the lyrium to break through my skin. These markings you see, Hawke, are the result of the chain reaction that followed: several of my blood vessels burst all at once, causing hot lyrium to spill onto my skin." He shook his head and again glanced at Hawke, who had turned away and had covered his eyes with his hand.

"I do not remember what happened after that. I am told that I lost consciousness again, and that Danarius was unable to revive me for several hours. I came close to losing my life…sometimes I wish that…" He sighed softly and placed his hand on Hawke's arm. "Forgive me, Hawke. I did not mean to cause you anguish, but it is…almost a relief to speak of this to someone."

"No, I'm…" Hawke breathed in deeply and turned back to Fenris, but didn't look at him. "I-I'm fine…t-this is what you dream about, Fenris?"

"Yes." Fenris removed his hand from Hawke's arm and rubbed his own arms, shivering.

"Are you cold?" Hawke asked him.

"A little."

Hawke stood up. "I'll be back in a minute," he said quietly, and walked up the stairs and into Fenris's bedroom.

After waiting for a few minutes, Fenris turned around, wondering what Hawke was doing. At that moment, Hawke appeared on the landing carrying pillows, blankets and the coverlet from Fenris's bed. Making his way down the stairs and over to the settee, Hawke passed Fenris a blanket and pillow and sat down next to him. As the firelight caught Hawke's eyes, Fenris noticed that they glistened with unshed tears, but said nothing.

Hawke placed a pillow behind his neck and covered himself with a blanket, and Fenris did the same. Hawke then took the coverlet and covered them both with it.

"Stay here, Fenris," Hawke said in a soft, unsteady voice. "Let's just sleep here, tonight."

Fenris nodded and pulled the coverlet up to his neck, ensuring that Hawke had enough of the coverlet for himself.

"Fenris…you have to get away from this place. He's a monster. I can't…he can't be allowed to…" Hawke bit his bottom lip and moved closer to Fenris, so that their legs were touching, but he kept his hands in his lap. "Please, Fenris; I want you to join the city Guard. Earlier, I thought it was a good idea, but now…he _can't_ know you're here. He can't find you again," he said, anger and determination creeping into his words. "We're going to find him, Fenris. Whatever it takes, we'll find him. He can't be allowed to do this to anyone, ever again."

"I will call on Donnic tomorrow, Hawke," Fenris promised.

Hawke nodded, unable to speak, and closed his eyes, his shoulders sagging in relief. A movement was felt beneath the covers and a small, warm hand wrapped around Hawke's. Hawke gently clasped it and they both relaxed against each other.

"Get some sleep, Fenris." Hawke whispered. "I'll be here when you wake up."


	30. Chapter 30

Fenris, woken by the ache of his markings, opened his eyes to find the sleeping Hawke's face inches away from his own. The mage had edged closer to Fenris and had moved his arm, which now rested across Fenris's belly, having released his hand. Whether Hawke had done this consciously or while he was asleep was unclear.

Fenris moved slightly, transferring his weight onto his left hip and leg, which meant he turned more toward Hawke; he would have moved onto his right side but didn't like anyone being behind him. He watched the softly-snoring mage for a while, at first wondering if Hawke was feigning sleep as Fenris had done earlier, but it soon became apparent that Hawke was in a deep slumber: his breathing was slow and shallow, and his facial muscles slack. Fenris smiled softly as he noticed a small bead of drool working its way down Hawke's lower lip, which vibrated slightly when he exhaled.

Fenris didn't remember having slept next to, or with, anyone before. Whenever Danarius had come to him at night, he would mercifully leave Fenris's room once he'd finished with him. Danarius had, however, implied that he and Fenris had often spent the night together before the _procedure_, both sleeping beside each other, as well as…_that_. Fenris neither remembered nor believed Danarius's claim, nor did he care to remember.

Forcing Danarius out of his mind, he turned his attention back to Hawke, and continued to listen to his breathing, watching the path of the drool as it trickled its way down, stopping when it met Hawke's beard.

Hawke smelled faintly of tansy and musk, which unfortunately did nothing to hide the overpowering stench of garlic that oozed through Fenris's own pores. He moved slightly nearer to Hawke in the hope that he would catch Hawke's smell instead of his own. Hawke was very warm and Fenris found being next to him strangely comforting, particularly now that he was asleep. Fenris didn't feel completely secure unless he was in total control of a situation, and, although he knew by now that Hawke would not harm him, here, he was in control.

The warmth he and Hawke shared made his eyelids grow heavy and he fought to stay awake. A brief thought flitted though his mind of the possible awkwardness the morning would bring, when they both awoke to find they'd moved much closer to each other during the night, and that Hawke had wrapped his arm around Fenris. Fenris suspected, however, that Hawke wouldn't feel awkward about it at all. Would Fenris? He certainly didn't feel awkward now, but _would _he when Hawke was awake and Fenris was no longer in complete control?

Sleep began to fog his mind, and that thought gradually evanesced along with his ability and desire to stay awake. It was too late to do anything now, and, as Fenris rested his own arm against Hawke's chest and closed his eyes, he decided that he didn't really care.

~o~O~o~

When Hawke awoke, he was surprised to find Fenris next to him, and much nearer to him than he'd been when they'd first gone to sleep. He didn't need to look toward the windows to see if the sun had risen; even with the drapes closed, a pale yellow haze warmed the corners of the room, banishing the shadows. The fire had almost gone out, but Hawke felt no immediate need to rekindle it, finding all the warmth he needed beneath the covers. Fenris would normally have risen long before now, and Hawke wondered if Fenris would be angry with himself for sleeping late, but made no attempt to wake him, wanting to make the most of being so near to him.

Shifting a little, he felt light pressure against his chest, and lifted the covers slightly, beaming as he spotted Fenris's hand resting against him; his nose then wrinkled at the pungent aroma of garlic that moving the covers had released. Fenris mumbled something that Hawke didn't understand, and he feared for a moment that Fenris was dreaming, but a glance at the elf's face revealed a stillness and serenity that made Hawke's heart swell.

With another indistinct utterance, Fenris's eyes slowly opened, and, for a second, Hawke held his gaze before they both looked downwards and Fenris moved away slightly. Hawke discreetly scanned Fenris's face for any signs of discomfort or unease, and found none.

"Good morning," Hawke said softly.

"Good morning, Hawke."

"Did you sleep well?"

Fenris looked over to the windows and frowned. "Apparently so." He moved his hand away from Hawke's chest and sat up straight. Hawke moved his own arm from around Fenris, but they both stayed under the covers, reluctant to leave their warm cocoon.

"The fire's gone out," Hawke observed, his voice thick with sleep, and he cleared his throat.

Fenris shrugged and a sleepy smile danced across his lips. "It's not the end of the world."

Hawke returned his smile through a yawn. "It's your turn to make breakfast."

"I wasn't aware we were taking turns," Fenris replied, rubbing his eyes. "Besides, you have medicine to prepare."

"Nice try, Fenris, but if I'm getting up, then so are you," Hawke teased.

"_Stercus_," muttered Fenris.

"I know what that means!"

"I'm aware of that, Hawke," Fenris said with a warm smile.

"I see you still haven't started breakfast," remarked Hawke, closing his eyes and settling back against the settee.

"Nor have you."

"Let's just stay here, then," Hawke drawled lazily, opening one eye to look at Fenris. "I'm not that hungry, anyway."

"Your stomach is making sounds to the contrary, Hawke."

Hawke groaned, sat up and yawned again. "Smart-mouthed elves get extra garlic, you know."

"I don't think I _need_ any more garlic," Fenris moaned with a tentative sniff at his armpit.

Hawke looked sidelong at the elf. "Well, I didn't want to come out and say it," he mumbled quietly.

"Say what? That I am malodourous?"

"I…wouldn't have put it like _that_, exactly…"

"And how _would_ you have put it, Hawke?"

Hawke started sniggering, mostly because Fenris's eyebrow had once again shot up, and Fenris had no idea what that expression did to Hawke's insides. "You're right, Fenris; there really is no other way to put it. You stink to high heaven."

"This is entirely _your_ fault," Fenris accused with a mock-scowl, knowing that this would make Hawke laugh; last night, Hawke had been on the verge of tears and Fenris never wanted to see that again.

As expected, Hawke chuckled and scratched his head distractedly. "Sorry about that."

"Are you really?"

"No, not really."

Fenris's eyebrow remained where it was, but the rest of his features softened. "Just as I suspected."

With another yawn, Hawke pushed the cover off his lap and stretched his arms above his head. He glanced down at Fenris's bandaged foot, which poked out from beneath the coverlet. "How…how are you feeling this morning?" he asked cautiously, and Fenris knew that he was not only asking about his foot, but his spirit, too.

"Better, Hawke. Much better, thank you. And…you?"

"Good; I'm good," Hawke mumbled with an exaggerated nod, and stood up, releasing a deep breath. "Well…I'd better get your medicine prepared."

Hawke, in truth, felt far from good, after learning of the torture that Fenris had once endured, but he was loath to raise its spectre again, not wanting Fenris to relive it, although Hawke had no doubt that Fenris did just that, and frequently.

"Hawke…" Fenris moved the covers aside and pushed himself up. "Would you…care to accompany me around the mansion, first?"

"You mean while you conduct your checks?"

Fenris nodded. "Yes. I would welcome your company."

Hawke also nodded. "I'd like that." A small smile brightened his face, and a glow warmed his belly. "After you." He gestured for Fenris to precede him, and, together, they took a leisurely walk around the mansion.

~o~O~o~

After ablutions and breakfast, Hawke examined and re-dressed Fenris's foot, and declared him fit to walk around freely, but advised him to wear his slippers when he went to the barracks. He also recommended he not resume his regular training routine for another couple of days.

"I probably won't see you for the rest of the day," Hawke told him as they left the mansion. "I have to take care of this job with Varric, and later I, erm…I have something else to do."

Fenris locked the door and gave Hawke a curious look, but decided not to pry. They walked together quietly for a short time, when Hawke stopped. "Actually, I'm…Anders and I are going out on the town. He's…been feeling a bit…down."

"There is no need to explain yourself to me," Fenris said.

"We're not going anywhere, you know…I mean…we're just going to the pub. Erm, you're…I would ask you to come along, but…"

"Hawke," Fenris said in a firm voice, but with a smile, "I repeat: you do not need to explain yourself. I hope you have a pleasant evening."

"Er, well, thanks." Hawke cleared his throat, feeling relieved and yet at the same time deflated that Fenris had reacted so reasonably. Did Fenris truly not care that Hawke would be spending the evening with Anders, or was he playing his cards close to his chest? Would Hawke have preferred Fenris to angrily protest against him spending time with the 'abomination'? Would Hawke have capitulated, or would he have defended Anders?

He would have capitulated. Without hesitation.

Fenris, noticing that Hawke appeared distracted, tilted his head to one side. "Hawke? Are you all right?"

"Oh, yes…" Hawke blinked and affected an easy smile. "I made some extra medicine up this morning: there's enough for the rest of today in a pan in the kitchen. Just split it three ways."

"I am very grateful," said Fenris with a nod. A slight frown settled over his features, then, and he was silent for a short time, before he glanced up at Hawke, and then back at the ground. "Will you be staying at the mansion tonight, Hawke?" he asked.

Hawke's eyes widened. "Oh, erm…well, it's up to you, Fenris; you're on the mend, now, and…" He paused and thought for a moment. "Mind you, you_ will_ need some medicine made fresh in the morning, and, um, just in case you have any problems…I suppose that I should probably stay for at least one more night. If, of course, it's all right with you, Fenris."

"That will be fine," Fenris answered nonchalantly. "I will purchase extra provisions."

"You'll be sick of the sight of me before long," Hawke joked.

"If you do not tire of seeing me, first," Fenris answered, and they shared a quiet laugh.

Reaching the chantry square, both men stopped and shook hands. "Well, I guess this is where we part ways," Hawke said. "I hope you get on well at the barracks."

"Thank you. And I wish you and Varric success with your investigation."

"See you tonight, then." They nodded at each other, and Hawke turned, heading toward Lowtown, before he paused and turned back to Fenris. "I'll call at the mansion at ten bells, or as near to then as I can."

"Hawke, as I have already said…" Fenris began.

"I just thought you'd like to know who was knocking on your door late at night."

A hint of a smile graced Fenris's lips, slowly growing wider, and he glanced at the ground. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"Bye for now," said Hawke.

"Farewell," Fenris replied, and watched Hawke walk away until he disappeared from sight. Standing still in the square, he glanced up at the chantry building, admiring the architecture for a moment. He then looked in the direction of the Keep, where he was meant to be going. With a sigh, he turned and walked toward the chantry, hesitating once or twice before finally entering.

It wasn't long before one of the sisters approached him and asked if he needed assistance.

"Sebastian, please," he asked politely, and was directed over to a pew, where he sat and waited.

After a few minutes, Sebastian appeared at the top of the stairs and walked down them with a bright smile on his face. "Fenris!" he greeted enthusiastically, and the elf rose to his feet. Sebastian arrived next to him and offered his hand, which Fenris shook. "It's good to see you again, Fenris. How is your foot this morning?"

Fenris glanced downwards and then back up at Sebastian. "It has improved; thank you for asking."

"I'm glad to hear it, Fenris," Sebastian said warmly, and the two of them took a slow stroll along the aisle. "I very much enjoyed the game last night; thank you for inviting me, Fenris. We should do it again, soon."

"I also enjoyed it," answered Fenris. "Thank you for coming." He looked around and fiddled with his breastplate. "Well, I should be going."

Sebastian nodded and momentarily glanced at the elf. "Of course; allow me to show you out."

"Thank you."

As they reached the door, Sebastian halted and was quiet for a moment before he asked, "Fenris, was there something in particular you wanted to see me about?"

"No," Fenris answered quickly. "I merely wished to call on you on my way to the barracks."

"Ah, yes; you're going to try out for the Guard, aren't you?" Sebastian exclaimed. "Well, I wish you luck, though I doubt you'll need it."

"You are very gracious," Fenris said diffidently, and turned toward the door, his hand resting on the large handle for a moment as his mind wandered.

"Fenris," Sebastian said quietly, "do you want to talk to me about something?"

Fenris shook his head, looking mildly embarrassed. "No. I will…keep you no longer." He opened the door and stepped outside, but was stopped by Sebastian's hand resting on his arm.

"When I said I was at your disposal, Fenris, I meant it; not only to bear arms at your side, but also as your friend. If ever you want to talk, in confidence, I'm here, day or night."

Fenris took a deep breath, blinked several times, and nodded. "I…" He released his breath and straightened up. "Farewell, Sebastian."

"The Maker walks at your side, Fenris, and will hear you when you speak to Him; remember that, should you ever doubt yourself."

With a final nod, Fenris turned away and walked down the steps. Sebastian watched him leave, his brow creasing in concern. He then closed the doors and walked up the aisle to the altar, where he dropped to one knee and clasped his hands together.

"Maker, watch over your son, Fenris, for he is uncertain and in need of Your gentle guidance. Guard him with every care, and make his way easy and his labours fruitful. Dry his tears if he weeps; sanctify his joys; raise his courage if he weakens, and his resolve if he hesitates. Restore his hope should he lose heart, his truth should he err, and his repentance should he fail."

~o~O~o~

Fenris found Donnic at the top of the steps leading down to Lowtown, where he was posted for the morning. The guard's smile almost split his face as he strode over to Fenris, nearly crushing his hand when he shook it.

"I saw Hawke earlier on; he was on his way to The Hanged Man," Donnic said, barely able to contain his excitement. "He, um, mentioned that you may be considering my proposal?" he asked hopefully.

"I have considered it," answered Fenris. "However, we should not be premature. There will be tests, no doubt."

"Which you will pass in the blink of an eye," Donnic said encouragingly, and Fenris shrugged his shoulders. "Don't do yourself down, Fenris. You'll have no trouble at all."

Fenris coughed quietly and glanced up at the tall warrior. "Is there an aptitude test?"

"You mean reading and writing? Why, yes; we have paperwork to complete, reports and so on."

Fenris halted and he shook his head, his face hardening.

"Would that be a problem for you, Fenris?" Donnic asked quietly, glancing around.

"I cannot read or write," confessed Fenris. "Hawke is teaching me, but I am nowhere near able to write…reports. I have only just learned my letters."

"I see." Donnic placed his hand on Fenris's back and led him over to a spot where fewer people were around. "Listen, between you and me, I know at least two of the guards who are illiterate; in fact, by knowing your letters, you're already ahead of them. They were employed by Jevens; he didn't bother with the aptitude test, but Aveline goes by the book."

"Then how do they write their reports?" Fenris asked.

"They don't. Their partners do it for them. Aveline has let it go with those two, but she uses the test with any new recruits."

Fenris's shoulders sagged, and he shook his head again. "I apologise for wasting your time. Forgive me."

Donnic started to laugh. "I'm not letting you give up that easily!"

"But…the test…"

"There must be a way round that," said Donnic. "I'll have a talk to Aveline, use my charm on her. What do you think of my 'charming' face?"

Fenris looked up to see Donnic batting his eyelashes with a simpering smile. Fenris hung his head and a deep laugh rumbled through his chest. "She would be forgiven for thinking that you have lost your mind."

"Hm, perhaps you're right," Donnic laughed. "All right, then…this is my 'I mean business' face." He folded his arms, affected a frown and raised a single eyebrow. "Now, look _here_, Aveline," he practised, and Fenris flashed his teeth as laughter shook his slender frame.

"Well, if it makes her laugh then that'll be a start," chortled Donnic. "Come on; it's quiet around here for the time being. The pickpockets tend to operate after lunch, when the nobles have eaten a heavy meal and their senses are dulled." Donnic waved his arm to attract the attention of his fellow guard, who stood across the square. "I'm going up to the barracks for a bit. I'll be back later," he called over.

"Right you are," his colleague called back.

On their way to the barracks, Donnic continued to buoy Fenris's spirits, and Fenris did his best to ignore the heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. His friends, particularly Hawke and Donnic, had been so encouraging about his joining the Guard, and, although Fenris would not have considered doing this on his own, he had to admit that the idea appealed to him. But Fenris knew from bitter experience that anything he looked forward to was doomed to failure, and dreaded his friends' disappointment, particularly Hawke's. Hiding the tight ball of anxiety in his belly behind a smile, he continued to converse pleasantly with Donnic until they reached the Keep and entered the barracks.

After waiting for a short while for Aveline to become free, they entered the office, and the guard-captain rose and greeted Fenris.

"Good to see you, Fenris, and…Donnic? Everything all right? Shouldn't you be at the merchant's quarter?"

"Guard-Captain Aveline," Donnic said, gesturing toward Fenris. "I'd like to introduce our latest recruit."

Aveline looked around the room, unsure who Donnic was referring to, before her eyes settled on the elf. "You mean…Fenris? You'd like to join the Guard?"

Sensing reluctance on Aveline's part, Fenris glanced at Donnic.

"Well, I don't see anyone else here," Donnic answered.

"Oh," Aveline said. "Well, this is…unexpected. I had no idea that you were interested, Fenris."

"Actually, it was sort of mine and Hawke's idea," Donnic admitted, knowing that Fenris probably wouldn't lie to Aveline over his reasons. "Fenris would be a most able guard, and joining our ranks will afford him protection. You're aware of his situation?"

Aveline's eyes moved to the floor, and her posture stiffened slightly. "Yes, I am. Fenris, would you excuse us for a moment, please?"

His heart sinking, Fenris nodded. "Of course." He left the office, closing the door behind him, and leaned against a wall, inwardly cursing his stupidity for allowing himself to hope. Hadn't he learned by now?

Inside the office, Aveline walked behind her desk and folded her arms. "Are you aware that Fenris is on the run, Donnic? That Hawke was so concerned for his safety that he asked me to post extra guards in Hightown?"

"Yes, of course I'm aware of that," Donnic replied firmly, sensing that his 'charming' face would not avail him. "This is the perfect way for Fenris to remain incognito."

"The Kirkwall Guard is _not _a refuge for fugitives, Guardsman Hendyr," Aveline reprimanded. "His very presence within the Guard would place all of us in danger. I don't know what you and Hawke were thinking, putting this idea into his head…"

"Fenris is _not _a fugitive in Kirkwall," Donnic asserted, "and I don't see how he would place any of us in danger. His former master believes that he is holed up in that mansion. If Fenris joined the Guard, that twisted bastard wouldn't have a clue. Do you have any idea what he put Fenris through?"

"Of course I know," retorted Aveline, her eyes flashing. "I have nothing but sympathy and admiration for the man, but I have to consider the safety of every man and woman here. This master of his…"

"_Former _master."

"Former master, then!" she snapped, irritated at Donnic's belligerent tone. "He's tracked Fenris down several times since his escape. I am neither stupid nor arrogant enough to believe that our ranks are impenetrable. I will _not _have my guards put at risk. The answer is no."

Donnic took a step forward and placed his palms onto the desk. "I'm surprised at you, Guard-Captain. You'd be quite happy, then, for Danarius to recapture him? That man," he said, pointing to the door, "is intelligent, courageous, moral, and his sword skills are second to none. You were the one moaning the other day that Jevens just recruited anyone off the street. Fenris would be a credit to this regiment, and yet you seem to think that all he's good for is being at the beck and call of a deranged blood mage."

"Don't you put words into my mouth, Donnic!" Aveline took a deep breath. "Guardsman Hendyr."

"Are you aware that Danarius had Fenris chained to his bed at night?"

"What?"

"Oh, didn't you know that?" Donnic asked. "Yes, his arm was always chained to the bed so he couldn't escape. That also meant he couldn't relieve himself, or get up to stretch his legs. The mark of the manacle is still there on his wrist; he showed me last night."

Aveline sighed and sat down, but Donnic didn't relent.

"Are you also not aware that Fenris used to take beatings from Danarius's apprentice…Hadriana, I think her name was, so that some of the other slaves wouldn't have to? Danarius had _child _slaves, Aveline, and children play up, sometimes. Fenris did what he could to protect them, which meant that he would volunteer to take their punishment for them. This _bitch_ seemed to take some kind of perverse pleasure in beating Fenris, as it proved she'd 'broken' him. He didn't actually want to tell us that, but when he was showing us the markings on his arms we noticed several old scars and we pressed him."

Aveline sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Donnic…all I'm trying to do is…"

"And you're quite happy to send him back to that, are you?" Donnic interrupted.

Aveline shot up out of her chair. "Of course not!"

"Then you'll have no objections."

"This is emotional blackmail, Guardsman Hendyr!"

"Yes, it is."

Aveline turned away, and, for a moment, Donnic thought he'd persuaded her. When she turned back to face him, however, it was clear that her resolve had hardened.

"I'm sorry, Donnic. As Fenris is a citizen of Kirkwall, I'll do my best utmost to protect him, but having him in the Guard is too much of a risk."

"Then you'll have my request for a transfer by the end of the day," Donnic said, heading for the door.

"W-what?"

"I'll not work for someone I don't respect," he said bluntly. "For someone who professes to be an upstanding and decent replacement for Jevens, you're nothing but a coward, not to mention callous. I have family in Ostwick; I'll transfer there as soon as possible."

Aveline's mouth fell open, and she watched as Donnic stomped toward the door. "Wait a minute!"

A glimmer of hope rose inside Donnic, but he kept his expression dour as he turned around. "Yes, Guard-Captain Vallen?"

"You bloody-minded…" Aveline shook her head angrily and folded her hands behind her back, afraid that she would throw something at him if she kept her hands free. "All right! He can have a _trial_. A trial, do you understand? And _you're _responsible for him at all times. _And_, if the trial doesn't work out, he can pay for his bloody armour!"

"Fine with me," said Donnic, turning away from Aveline to hide his grin. "Oh, one more thing," he added as he reached the door. "I wouldn't bother with the aptitude test. He can't read or write."

Donnic quickly exited the office and closed the door, leaving a stunned Aveline behind. Spotting Fenris, he walked over and leaned on the wall next to him, a nervous laugh escaping him as he exhaled heavily.

"Bloody hell, Fenris, I thought that would go ill for a minute, then." He placed a hand on Fenris's shoulder. "Welcome to the Kirkwall Guard, Guardsman Fenris."

Fenris slowly looked up at Donnic. "You were…successful?"

"Eventually, yes," laughed Donnic, pressing his hand against his belly, butterflies dancing within. "What can I say? I'm a gambler. Sometimes bluffs pay off, and sometimes they don't. The Maker was smiling on us today, Fenris. Perhaps He likes a flutter, too."

"You _bluffed_ Aveline?"

Donnic nodded and released another long breath. "Come on, let's get you to the armoury. You need to be measured up, and then you can show the other recruits what you can do with that sword. If you feel up to it, that is," he said with a glance at Fenris's slipper-clad foot.

"I do, Donnic," Fenris said, once again shaking the guardsman's hand, heartened by his friends' faith in him. "I feel more than up to it."

~o~O~o~

Hawke was relieved that Fenris had not accompanied him today, for as soon as he and Varric set foot in the Blooming Rose, he was accosted by a giant of a man, very handsome but almost a foot taller than Hawke, and, by the looks of him, weighing considerably more.

"Where in the Void have you been, Hawke?" asked the man in a surprisingly soft voice, clapping Hawke on the shoulder.

"Angus!" Hawke laughed sheepishly at the astonished look on Varric's face as the dwarf craned his neck upwards. "I've, erm, been busy."

"Oh, you poor love," Angus commiserated, running a huge hand up and down Hawke's arm. "Come to let Angus take some of the weight off those shoulders, I hope?"

"Sorry," Hawke laughed with a shrug, "I'm here on business today."

Angus crossed his arms and pushed out his lower lip. "You never make time for me anymore, Hawke," he teased. "I'm beginning to think you've found someone else."

"Never," Hawke joked. "Another time, perhaps?"

"Hmph," pouted Angus. "I'll believe that when I see it. We're drifting apart, Hawke," he added melodramatically before he was called away by another punter.

"Maker's balls, Hawke! Do you have a death wish or something?" exclaimed Varric. "You actually…with him?"

"Actually what, Varric?" teased Hawke.

"You know very well what I mean."

"No, I don't," Hawke insisted. "I'm not a mind reader, you know. You need to say exactly what you mean."

"You can kiss my ass before I'll do that, Hawke," Varric grumbled.

"Actually, Angus used to…"

"Stop right there!" commanded Varric, holding his hands up, before a mischievous glint came into his eyes. "That guy just seems a little…cumbersome for you, is all. I thought you went for the more _petite _man."

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about," Hawke claimed. "Like I said, you need to say what you really mean."

"Sure, Hawke. Whatever you say."

After making a few enquiries which cost them a few silver, Hawke and Varric were directed to Jethann, an elf who worked at the brothel. As he opened the door to his room, the elf's eyes lit up as he spotted not one, but two men, and ushered them in.

"That's what I'm talking about, Hawke," whispered Varric. "I would have thought someone like him would be more up your street."

"Shut it, Dwarf," Hawke whispered back.

After a disappointed Jethann discovered that neither Hawke nor Varric wanted to partake of his services, he reluctantly gave up some information on the missing woman, and directed them to Darktown, and a templar who had also been investigating her disappearance.

Before they met with the templar, Varric and Hawke called on Anders at the clinic to see if he wanted to assist them. Hawke had arranged to meet up with him later anyway, and wanted to do everything he could to make Anders feel included. After treating a few patients, Anders closed the clinic and joined them.

When they found the templar, he was under attack by a group of thugs, and, much to Hawke's surprise, Anders vigorously defended the templar, casting his most powerful spells to ensure that the louts didn't get near to him. Once their assailants were dispatched, Anders ran to the templar's side and gently helped him to his feet.

"Are you hurt?" Anders asked with concern.

"A few bruises, but nothing worse, thanks to you," the templar said gratefully.

Introducing himself as Ser Emeric, he explained to the three men that he had been investigating the disappearances of a number of women, one of them a Circle mage, and shared his findings with them. Hawke listened curiously as Anders vowed to help track them down, and then offered to see Ser Emeric back to The Gallows, which the templar politely declined, before going on his way.

"Anders?" Hawke asked, seeing the unmistakable look of fondness in his Anders's eyes as Emeric walked away. "What was that about?"

"Eh?" Anders blinked and smiled self-consciously at Hawke. "Erm…nothing. He just…reminded me of someone I used to know, that's all."

"Who?" Hawke asked, intrigued.

Anders's smile melted away and he stared into the distance. "Someone from…when I was with the Wardens in Amaranthine. He sort of looked after us all." Anders shook his head softly, and Hawke was dismayed at the sadness in his eyes.

"Did…something happen to him?" Hawke asked gently.

Anders glanced in the direction that Emeric had gone. "Maker, he really looks like him…" His head fell back and he sighed. "He died defending the Keep."

Hawke placed a hand on Anders's arm. "I'm so sorry."

Anders nodded quickly, cleared his throat and unfolded the notes detailing Ser Emeric's evidence. "Well, we need to head to the Foundry District. Are you two free? I'd like to investigate this as soon as possible, and so would Justice."

Varric and Hawke exchanged glances, and both nodded. "This might cut into our drinking time, though," Hawke told Anders with a faint smile.

"I don't mind, Hawke," Anders enthused, glad to be included in Hawke's activities at all. "I'm sure we'll find time for one or two, eh?"

"We'll _make_ time," Hawke promised, and wrapped his arm around Anders's shoulder. "Lead the way."

~o~O~o~

Having spent a very enjoyable morning at the barracks, and, much to Donnic's delight, having put a few cocky recruits in their place with his swordplay, Fenris headed back to the mansion to take his medicine.

Fenris had been made to feel welcome at the barracks, and the news of his trial appointment had spread quickly. Several of the other guards had sought him out to offer their congratulations. He'd left there feeling invincible, but now, as he once again paused outside the chantry on his way to the mansion, the tight knot of anxiety he'd felt earlier that morning had returned with a vengeance.

He stood looking up at the place of worship for what seemed like ages, conflicted by what course of action to take. His choice was made for him, however, when the sister that had greeted him earlier walked past him, recognising him.

"Hello again," she said pleasantly. "Are you back for Sebastian?"

Still unsure of what to do, his words seemed to be torn from him without any conscious thought. "Um, yes," he answered.

"Please, come with me," said the sister, and she escorted him inside, where Sebastian was talking to one of the other sisters.

"Please excuse me," the archer said politely to the sister as he spotted Fenris enter.

"Fenris, you're back," he said, reaching for the elf's hand and shaking it. "What can I do for you?"

Fenris released a sharp breath and his gaze fell to the floor. "Are you…occupied at present?"

"Not at all, Fenris. Would you like to talk?"

Fenris gave no answer, but slowly nodded his head.

"Come," Sebastian said quietly. "There's a private room just through here."


	31. Chapter 31

_Apologies and thank-you to amanda0293 and Aynslesa; for some reason the site is not letting me respond to reviews at the moment!_

_Thank you to all of you for reading, and a very happy Thanksgiving to those of you across the pond!_

_The words to Hawke's song were shamelessly ripped off from Lil Wayne's 'How To Love'. Don't bother suing me: I'm broke :P_

~o~O~o~

Sebastian led Fenris to a small store room that contained some wooden furniture, stacked in a corner, and closed the door. He then pulled a small table into the centre of the room and found two dining chairs, placing them next to the table. When satisfied with the arrangement, he sat down and bade Fenris to join him.

Fenris, however, remained standing, one hand covering his mouth as he stared at the door. Sebastian was silent, allowing Fenris to speak in his own time.

"Are you certain you have nothing else to do? No other duties?" Fenris asked after a pause. "If I am keeping you…"

"You're not keeping me from anything, Fenris," answered Sebastian in a slow and deliberate voice. "Why don't you sit down?"

Fenris glanced uncertainly at Sebastian, and, not wishing to be rude, took a seat. For several moments he squirmed and fidgeted, before giving up and once again standing. "I…don't know where to begin," he said quietly, still facing the door. "You…you don't even know me. I don't know why…I should not be burdening you with this."

"Sometimes it's easier to confide in someone with whom one is not emotionally involved," Sebastian opined. "Is that not why you came to me, instead of…Hawke, for example?"

At the mention of Hawke, Sebastian noticed Fenris's shoulders tense. "Emotionally involved?" asked Fenris, still facing away. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, it's clear to me that you and Hawke are quite close, and sometimes it's hard to share our feelings with someone we're close to, as contradictory as it sounds."

Fenris released a heavy sigh and turned toward Sebastian, slumping onto the chair.

"If I may…" Sebastian sat up straight and meshed his fingers together on the table. "Is it Hawke you wanted to talk about, Fenris?"

Fenris's eyes quickly flitted over to Sebastian and then moved to the floor. Sebastian nodded but said nothing.

For the next few minutes, Fenris picked at his fingernails, which Sebastian noticed were bitten down to the quick. Now and then, Fenris opened his mouth as if to speak, but faltered each time. Eventually, he stood up and walked over to the door. For a moment, Sebastian thought he would leave, but instead he leaned against the wall, this time facing Sebastian. He took a deep breath and released it slowly.

"Kirkwall is a strange place to me," Fenris began, his eyes fixed on the far wall. "Its people…they are nothing like the people of the Imperium."

"How so?" asked Sebastian.

Fenris released another breath and his voice grew quieter. "In the Imperium…nothing is done without payment, reparation, compensation, whatever you wish to call it. Here, though…so many people…" A pained expression came over Fenris, then, and he took in another breath, straightening himself up. "I don't understand."

"What don't you understand?"

Fenris shook his head. "Since I arrived here, many people have…gone out of their way to help me, while expecting nothing in return. At first I questioned their motives, but now I just don't…" He shrugged his shoulders. "The dwarf, Varric, is actively searching for Danarius. Donnic helped me secure a position in the city Guard, risking his own position in the process. You are giving up your own time to…to hear the woes of a man you hardly know. And Hawke…"

Sebastian sat back in his chair, crossed one leg over the other, and waited.

"Hawke…knows things about me," Fenris said in a subdued tone. "Things I am…ashamed to speak of. And yet, he has constantly and selflessly…" He once again took a deep breath, and decided that Sebastian may as well hear the worst. "I have…killed. So many…" He glanced at Sebastian, his eyes wide, expecting to be censured or judged harshly, but Sebastian's expression remained impassive.

"Killed at your master's behest," Sebastian reminded him.

"That is no excuse." A harsh note had crept into Fenris's voice, and his breathing quickened.

"You were in fear for your life," said Sebastian, uncrossing his legs and sitting forward.

"I_ could_ have defied him. Yes, he might have put an end to me, but what is _my_ life weighed against the countless innocents I have slaughtered?" Fenris's lip curled, and the bridge of his nose wrinkled in disgust. "It was nothing but self-preservation that drove my blade into their flesh, my fist into-" he muttered darkly, raising one of his hands up to his face and staring at it.

"I don't believe that, Fenris," Sebastian said calmly. "Last night, you told us of the poor children Danarius kept as slaves, and how you suffered to protect them. It's my belief that you preserved yourself in order to continue in your role as their guardian. You must have known that, if Danarius _had_ ended your life, another slave would have taken your place. The children would no longer have you as their defender, and those innocents you speak of would still have been killed."

Fenris raised his other hand and glared at them both. "It was still _these _hands that ended their lives. No amount of _excuses _will change that fact!"

"You were used as a weapon, Fenris," Sebastian said in a slightly firmer tone. "You were the sword, yes, but it was Danarius that wielded you. You are _not _to blame."

Exasperated, Fenris began to pace back and forth. "I do not understand why…" He halted and his posture stiffened. "How can you say that?"

"I'm not surprised you find Kirkwall so strange," said Sebastian. "You say that your memories began three-and-a-half years ago, and that your first memory is of receiving your markings, and of Danarius's brutal regime. That is the benchmark against which all subsequent memories of yours have been measured."

Sebastian rose, went over to where Fenris stood, and leaned against the wall a few feet away.

"As your life in the Imperium is the first thing you remember, that life seems normal to _you_, when, in fact, it is _abnormal_ – grossly so – to most others. The people of Kirkwall are good, on the whole. Their behaviour, and way of life, is _my _benchmark, Fenris. The kindness of Varric, Hawke and others, is normal to _me_. That doesn't mean I don't appreciate acts of charity, but I am not surprised by them."

Fenris stopped pacing and turned to face Sebastian. "Why are you being so…you are the same as Hawke. I do not understand. How can you not judge me? How can you not hate me?" Fenris laced his fingers together on top of his head and resumed pacing.

"I judge people on who they are _now_, Fenris, not what they _were_. I was once a very different man than the one you see before you."

"And did _you _murder those who had done nothing to merit it?"

"I was a scoundrel, Fenris," Sebastian said candidly. "I was a drinker, a gambler and a womaniser. I frittered away my parents' money on loose women and a life of debauchery, when I could have used that money to do good…"

"That is hardly the same!" Fenris bit out. He turned his back on Sebastian, covering his face with his hands. Sebastian gave him a moment to collect himself.

"I…forgive me, Sebastian," said Fenris unsteadily. "You do not deserve my anger."

"Let us sit down, Fenris," Sebastian implored softly.

Sebastian once again took his seat and waited for Fenris, who, after a long pause, eventually went over and sat opposite Sebastian, his eyes fixed on the table.

"What is it?" Fenris asked quietly. Sebastian frowned and waited for him to continue. "Is it pity you feel for me?" Fenris asked, slowly raising his head so his eyes met Sebastian's.

"I don't pity you, Fenris."

"Then why…" Fenris went to push himself up and then sat back down. "How can you be so _magnanimous_?" he questioned, scorn lacing his words.

"Why did you come here, Fenris?" asked Sebastian. "Did you expect me to tell you what a monster you are? That you're evil and wicked, that there is no place for you in decent society? Did you hope that I would confirm what you already believe to be true?"

Fenris's gaze once again fell to the table, and he didn't answer.

"Or did you come here seeking forgiveness, absolution? I could certainly give you that, Fenris; we could pray together and you could do penance, but would that really change anything? Would it change the way you feel about yourself?"

Again, no answer came from Fenris, and Sebastian sat forward a little.

"True absolution can only come from within, Fenris. You must accept that the past has already been written and there is nothing you can do to change it. Only once you've forgiven _yourself_ can you reclaim what was taken from you."

"Forgive myself? And how do you expect me to do that?" demanded Fenris, his voice once again taking on a hard edge. "How am I meant to do that when the people I have killed haunt my sleep, and their screams wake me? When each time I close my eyes I see their destroyed bodies, their dead eyes staring back at me? Just how am I meant to forgive myself?" He pushed himself to his feet and glared down at Sebastian. "I do not _deserve_ to be forgiven."

"So long as you believe that, you'll never stop being a victim."

"What? How am _I _a victim? The ones who died at my hands are the victims, Sebastian!"

"You were a victim of Danarius's insanity, Fenris." Sebastian also stood up. "You _were _a victim; you no longer need to be, but as long as you blame yourself for Danarius's crimes, you will never be free."

"They were also _my_ crimes!"

Sebastian shook his head. "No. You were as much a victim as they were. You may no longer be a slave, but you are _still_ a victim. So long as you reside within the prison of self-hatred you've made for yourself, you will remain so."

Fenris's eyes darted around the room as uncertainty and panic gripped him. "I-I don't know…I don't know how to..." He closed his eyes and hung his head.

Sebastian came round to Fenris's side of the table and touched his arm. "Start today, Fenris. The past is the past and there is nothing you can do to change it, but the present, and the future, are _yours_. Stop living as you lived yesterday, and live how _you _want to live. Be the man you've always wanted to be." He placed his other hand on Fenris's other arm. "The man that _I _see; the man that _Hawke_ sees."

After a moment of silence, Fenris's breathing slowed and Sebastian felt the elf relax a little. Gently guiding Fenris back to his chair, Sebastian brought his own chair around and sat next to Fenris.

"Hawke," Fenris began, and shook his head, once again looking at his hands. "He…" He sighed and looked up at Sebastian. "He…I think he…"

"He has feelings for you."

Fenris's eyes widened. "How did you know that?"

Sebastian smiled fondly. "The way he looks at you; the look of sheer joy he has when you smile. He cares for you a great deal, that much is obvious, but there is something more in his eyes; I can see it."

Fenris's brows knitted together in a heavy frown. "You see it? I did not see it for a long time…only recently have I suspected. How could I have not known? I am a fool."

A look of sadness came into Sebastian's eyes, then, but he quickly hid it. "Have you…since you fled Minrathous, has there been anyone?" he asked. Fenris shook his head. "Then how _could_ you have known?"

Fenris stared at the floor, seemingly lost in thought.

"I hope you won't mind me saying this, Fenris," Sebastian ventured, "but in many ways, you're like a child."

Fenris looked up, his frown still in place.

"You lived in this small world that Danarius created, seeing and experiencing only what he allowed you to," Sebastian elaborated. "You knew nothing else. And now, you're in a completely different world, having to make your way in a place where you're at odds with everything and everyone. Hawke…the way he acts toward you must be completely alien to you. Of course you didn't know how he felt. How would you? You've had no prior experience of such things. And perhaps there's an element of you feeling you're not worthy of his attention."

Having no answer to that, Fenris started fiddling with his hands, and, for several minutes, they sat in silence.

"How do _you_ feel about this, Fenris?" Sebastian eventually asked.

"I…don't know." Fenris shook his head. "He is a mage. I did not think it possible that I could even befriend a mage, but Hawke is…different. I enjoy his company. When…when I am not with him, I…" He sighed, unsure of how to verbalise his feelings.

"You miss him?"

Fenris thought of Hawke, and his stomach twisted, an ache blooming in his chest. "Last night," he said in a whisper, "he and I slept together." His head snapped up. "I mean-_just_ slept."

"I know what you meant," Sebastian replied with a faint smile.

"I…enjoyed the feeling of being close to someone," Fenris admitted. "To him. And yet, once he was awake, I did not have the courage…I-I fear being close to him." He shook his head and sighed. "I am making no sense."

"You're afraid of showing your feelings?"

"I do not _know_ what those feelings are. I feel so conflicted. Never before has anyone inspired such uncertainty within me. And yet, he is also like an anchor. When I am with him, everything seems…normal?"

Sebastian's smile broadened. "Everything seems right?"

Fenris nodded slowly. "I think so. But…"

"But?"

"But, I-I'm not sure I can give him what he wants."

"If you don't reciprocate Hawke's feelings, Fenris, then you should let him know. It's only fair."

"Yes, I know that, but…" Fenris released a heavy breath, and stood up. "Sebastian…you have given me much to think about. I want to thank you for your time."

Sebastian rose, and Fenris held his hand out.

"Fenris, I have plenty of time, if you want to discuss this further."

Fenris shook his head. "I have some thinking to do. You have been…I am grateful beyond words."

"I am always here, Fenris; you know that." Sebastian took Fenris's hand and shook it firmly, and placed a hand on the elf's shoulder. "I will pray that you find the answers you seek, Fenris."

Fenris released Sebastian's hand, and placed his own hands on the archer's arms, for a moment feeling an urge to embrace him, but he refrained. "Thank you," he said earnestly. "For being a friend."

"Of course, Fenris. You're more than welcome. I'm not sure if I've been any use, but sometimes it helps just to talk. Let me see you to the door."

"No, I will see myself out. You have been more helpful than you realise, Sebastian." Fenris released the archer's arms and bowed to him.

Sebastian bowed back. "Remember what I said, Fenris; the Maker walks at your side. May He guide and protect you always."

Fenris opened the door to the store room and paused for a moment, before a small smile briefly appeared on his lips. "You, as well, Sebastian." With a nod, he moved away from the doorway.

Sebastian waited for a while, thinking about their conversation, and then he started to put the furniture away.

~o~O~o~

After their investigation had led them to the wedding ring and remains of the unfortunate Ninette, Hawke, Anders and Varric returned the ring to her husband and accepted his paltry reward without complaint. Feeling rather sombre, Hawke decided they needed cheering up. After stopping by at home, where Leandra made the men a snack, Hawke and Anders discussed where to go for a drink.

"I'm bored of The Hanged Man. Let's go somewhere else," Hawke suggested.

"Anywhere particular in mind?" asked Anders.

After a moment of thought, Hawke's eyes lit up. "I know just the place! Anders, you'll love it. It's just outside of Hightown: The White Swallow."

"Sounds nice," Anders said with a nod. "All right then, Hawke, we'll give it a go. You fancy coming, Varric?"

"Uh…no. Think I'll stick around here for Sunshine, if that's all right with you, serah?" he said to Leandra.

"Oh, yes, of course. And do call me Leandra," she answered. "Bethany will be home shortly."

Hawke folded his arms and scowled at his mother. "You haven't invited _me _to call you Leandra."

Leandra laughed and started to clear the dishes away, assisted by Varric.

"Idiot," muttered Varric as Hawke and Anders rose and took the last few pieces of cutlery through to the kitchen.

"We'll be off, then," announced Hawke, kissing his mother's cheek. "Remember, I'll be staying at the mansion again, tonight."

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" Anders asked Varric.

"Uh-uh. It's not my kind of place, Blondie, but you boys have fun."

"Oh, we _will_," chuckled Hawke.

After thanking Leandra for the meal, Anders and Hawke left and took a stroll through Lowtown.

"This is nice, Anders," said Hawke. "Just us two, eh? Or is it us three?"

"No, just the two of us," Anders laughed. "Justice doesn't approve of me drinking, but he knows I need to let off steam now and again."

Hawke glanced at Anders and nodded. "How have you been, Anders?"

"How have I _been_?" asked Anders, puzzled. "You only saw me yesterday, Hawke!"

"I know, but…we don't really talk any more, do we? Not like we used to, except to bicker. That's…kind of my fault, Anders. I've been leaving you out, and I'm sorry for that."

"Hawke, it's…"

"No," Hawke interrupted. "I've been wrapped up with Fenris and various other things. You were one of the first people in Kirkwall I became friends with, and I've been neglecting you." He stopped and turned to face Anders. "Look; things are a bit crazy at the moment. When the expedition's over and done with, I'm still going to come and work at the clinic with you. If you still want me to, that is."

"Oh, of course I do, Hawke," Anders said contritely. "I haven't exactly been fair with you, either. I have to admit, I'm still…concerned about Fenris, but you're a grown man. I'm not going to keep on about him. I know you like him, and I'd like nothing more than to be proved wrong."

"Really?"

Anders sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "I've been thinking. Justice had a bit of a word with me as well, if I'm honest. It's just…well, sometimes I feel a bit isolated down there in the clinic. My imagination runs away with me. I'm…I'm sorry, Hawke. I don't want us to fall out."

"Well, neither do I," replied Hawke, smiling.

"Just being away from the clinic for a few hours has perked me up, and I've been looking forward to us going for a drink," Anders told him.

"We'll make it a regular thing, Anders," Hawke promised. "You're right; you do need to get out of that clinic now and then. Now, let me take you to my favourite pub. I'll even buy the first round."

"You're on!" Anders chirped, and they picked up their pace, eager to reach Hawke's favourite pub.

~o~O~o~

As promised, Hawke bought the first round when they arrived at The White Swallow, and they found a small table not far from the entrance.

"There are a lot of men in here tonight, Hawke," Anders remarked with a frown as they took their seats. "Where are all the women?"

"I think I saw one behind the bar," Hawke mumbled, firmly suppressing a snigger.

"What? But I don't…" Anders's words died on his lips as a well-built man with a large moustache sashayed past and winked at him.

"Are you feeling well, Anders? You look awfully pale," asked Hawke casually.

His expression resembling that of a suffocating fish, Anders wheeled round to face Hawke. "You…you sneaky bastard! You've brought me to a…?"

"Really, Anders?" laughed Hawke. "Didn't the name give it away?"

"The _name_? The White S…oh, shit!" With a groan, Anders buried his face in his hands.

"This is the best pub in the Free Marches," Hawke declared. "Varric hasn't quite gotten around to visiting, yet, so I thought I'd bring you, instead."

Anders looked up from his hands. "So, what, I'm supposed to sit here all night like a prat while you cop off with some bloke named Lance?"

"No! I'm not here to cop off with anyone. This is a really fun place; I've brought Beth here a few times. She loves it."

"_Bethany_?"

Hawke nodded and supped at his pint. "Of course; she gets drinks bought for her all night, and tons of compliments, all of which are genuine, and not just a pathetic attempt to get into her smalls. Plus, she doesn't have to dodge wandering hands all night. Varric's quite happy for her to come here; _he_ just won't go with her," he added with a laugh.

"But _I_ might have to dodge wandering hands!" Anders wailed.

"No, they'll assume you're with me," Hawke reassured him, and both men looked up at the sound of raised voices from a nearby table.

"Looks like there's going to be a fight," Hawke surmised.

"Maybe we'd better be on standby, in case anyone needs healing," Anders recommended.

Hawke laughed and sank further back onto his chair. "I doubt we'll be needed."

"You never compliment me anymore!" an indignant voice piped up. "You always used to tell me how handsome I was, and how nicely I dressed, and now all you do is grunt and nod at me! Do you even _look _at me anymore? I mean _really _look at me?"

"We are _not _having this discussion _here_, Tarquin!"

"Oh, yes we are! Why don't you just admit it, Simon? You don't fancy me anymore!"

Anders placed a hand over his mouth and looked at Hawke, who was sniggering quietly.

"And what do you expect?" Simon retorted. "You're so bloody needy, lately! It's not attractive at all, you know!"

"Oh! How _could _you!"

A chair was pushed back and a distraught-looking man flounced past them, and through the exit.

"I _love_ this place," Hawke chortled. "There's never a dull moment."

Anders watched with both awe and delight as Simon also left the pub in haste, slamming the door behind him. "So I see, Hawke! So, what else is there in terms of entertainment?"

"Well, Beth and I play a game when we're here called 'Full House'. We give marks out of ten to anyone who walks past. A perfect ten is a Full House. Want to play?"

Anders folded his arms and narrowed his eyes at Hawke. "You want _me_ to give men marks out of ten for…what, their looks?"

"Not just their looks; the whole package," explained Hawke, his eyes wandering around the room. "Take your friend with the moustache, for example. Me, I'm not into facial hair, although I realise that _I _actually have facial hair, but there you are. So he loses marks for the 'tache. His bum was quite nice, though, and I liked the cut of his jib. I'd give him a six. Fair?"

"You are _not _getting me to rate men out of ten, Hawke!" exclaimed Anders, laughing in spite of himself.

"We'll see," sniffed Hawke. "Just wait 'til you disagree with one of my scores."

"You'll have a long wait, then," insisted Anders, suddenly finding the ale in his mug fascinating.

"How about _him_?" Hawke drawled, nodding over to a tall, blond-haired man who leaned against the bar.

"Mm," mumbled Anders, not even bothering to look.

"Blond hair and…please let them be green, please let them be green…yes!" he cheered as the man at the bar looked vaguely in their direction. "Blond hair with green eyes is an automatic eight points, before anything else is even considered."

"Got a thing for blondes, then, Hawke?" asked Anders, sneaking a quick look at the man. "Or is it green eyes?"

"_Both_," leered Hawke, turning his attention back to the man at the bar. "Now, let's see…tall, but not _too _tall; a little pudgy, but…"

"Ha! You're a fine one to talk!"

Hawke grinned, pleased that Anders had started to relax. "This is not about _me_," he scolded.

"So, what would you mark yourself as, Hawke?"

"Eh?"

"What would you mark yourself as?" repeated Anders.

"Ha! You're so transparent!" Hawke laughed. "This is going to lead to 'and what would you mark _me _as, Hawke'?" he teased in his best impersonation of Anders's voice.

"No, it's not!" Anders asserted unconvincingly, his cheeks turning pink from the ale. "Come on, answer my question!"

Hawke clasped his chin and looked upwards, deep in thought. "Well, I don't have blond hair _or _green eyes, so that's not a good start. Facial hair automatically knocks off two points. Podginess, another two. So, I'd say around a five or a six. On a good day."

Anders nodded and took another sip of ale, setting his mug down, and then sat back in his chair. Both men sat in silence for a few minutes, and, as they did so, the edges of Hawke's mouth began to curve upwards.

"Just ask me, Anders."

"Ask you what?"

"You're dying to ask me."

"I'm not…although I _am_ curious to know how many points blond hair scores on its own?"

"And why would you want to know that?"

Anders shrugged. "Well, because I have bl…"

"No you do not!"

"Er…what does Varric call me? _Blondie_."

"You can piss off with that. You told Varric that was a stupid name, and that your hair was _red_!" Hawke declared, waving a finger at Anders before taking a huge swig from his mug.

"All right, then…how much does red hair score?" Anders also drank deeply and belched.

"One point docked for burping."

"What? That's not fair! What does that have to do with the way I look?"

"I _told_ you, it's about the whole package," Hawke reiterated. "Haven't you been listening?"

"So I've lost a point, have I?" Anders demanded. "Well, let's make it worthwhile, then!" He raised his leg and broke wind, before dusting his hands off in self-congratulations.

"You dirty bastard!" Hawke shot up out of his seat. "That's a million points deducted! I'm going for a walk. Good luck with this lot!"

"No!" cried Anders, giggling uncontrollably as he grabbed Hawke's arm. "Please…I'm too pretty. They'll eat me alive!"

"You should have thought of that before you farted against my leg!" spluttered Hawke, a fine mist of his saliva coating Anders's face.

"Now, now, dears," said a punter who was passing by. "Don't get having a lovers' tiff."

Anders's face fell and he squirmed in his seat. "But…we're not…"

Hawke plonked himself next to Anders, ignoring the stench of rotting vegetables that hung in the air, and slung his arm around him. "He's right, Sweet Cheeks. Let's not fight."

Anders burst out laughing and playfully pushed Hawke away.

"All right, Anders, just to make you happy. Red hair and…" He moved his face closer to Anders's and scrutinised his eyes. "…Orange eyes?"

"_Orange_? These are honeyed amber, if you must know!"

"_Orange_," repeated Hawke. "Your face is the shape of a wedge; your nose is just…a disaster. And _stubble_," he added with a shudder. "You _do _have nice hands, though: nice hands get you an automatic seven points."

"Yes! I beat you!" cheered Anders, and then a deep line formed between his eyes. "Wait…what did you just say about my nose?"

Hawke swiped their mugs and stood up. "Another?" Without giving Anders a chance to answer, he scurried off to the bar.

After another few rounds, 'Full House' was abandoned as both mages had lost their ability to count higher than five. Instead, they sat in a corner, sniggering and dispensing damning critiques of all who passed by.

"Wha…wha 'bout him?" slurred Anders with an unsteady nod toward a blur that moved past them. "Would you d-do him?"

Hawke squinted at the man and snorted, sending ale dribbling down his chin. "I wouldn't ride that into f-fucking battle, mate," he squawked loudly.

Another blur appeared in front of their table, but instead of moving past as the others had, this one stayed still.

"Your tur, Nanders," Hawke blathered, his mouth slack as he gazed up, with half-closed eyes, at the hazy silvery shape.

Anders leaned forward and prodded what appeared to be an arm attached to the blurred form, making contact with something hard and smooth which gave off a metallic clang.

"Is that your face?" Anders asked, looking up at the metal man, "or is it your neck being sick?"

Both men spluttered and collapsed into fits of laughter.

"All right, lads, it's time for you to leave," said a deep, rough voice. It sounded very serious.

"Eh? Wha' for?" Hawke asked.

"There have been complaints," the gruff man explained. "Loud and raucous behaviour, and insulting and demeaning comments towards the clientele," he added, sounding bored.

"Are you sure?" scoffed Hawke. "See, Nanders? I _told_ you this place was a shithole!"

"We've done nuffin' wrong," insisted Anders, prodding the table with his finger but missing it, prodding his leg instead. "Wh-who are _you _to tell us to leaf? I mean leave. Leeeeave."

"Guardsman Diarmund," said the man, folding his arms. "_Ser_, to you."

"Fenris z'going to be a guardsman," Hawke said with a soppy grin, imagining the elf wearing shiny armour, in a heroic pose on the crest of a hill with the wind ruffling his hair. "An' Donnic. Well, he already is. A guard, I mean. You all do a bloody good job," he stated emphatically, waving his finger at Diarmund.

"You know Donnic?" asked the guard sceptically. "What's his family name, then?"

"Hendyr. An' he's got the biggest sideburns I've ever seen. Bloody good bloke. He's my mates. _Our _mates, I mean," he said, looking mildly confused.

"Mate," corrected Anders.

"What he said. _Mate._ An' soze Fenris. I'm his personal fizzi…fizzish…doctor." Hawke's daft smile faded, quickly replaced by a look of horror as he sat up straight. "Shit…wha' time 'zit?"

"After eleven bells. Time for you to go home. If you leave now, without any trouble, I'll let this one go," said Diarmund.

"_Eleven_?" Hawke blinked several times, repeating the number over and over. "But I-I need to get back for_ ten _bells!" he said in a panic, grabbing Anders by the arms. "How long will that take me?" he asked the rapidly-resolving image of Diarmund.

"Wherever you're going, you're already late," Diarmund told them, the edges of his mouth twitching slightly.

"But I can't…I mustn't be late!" Hawke shot to his feet, clutching the edge of the table to stop himself from swaying. Closing his eyes, he realised that, in fact, the _room _was swaying, and he opened them.

"He's got you on a tight leash, hasn't he?" Anders joked.

"No, you don't understand…I promised…I-I don't want to let him down…"

"Where are you going, lads?" asked the guard.

"Hightown."

"Darktown."

"Darktown? I'm not going _that_ way," said Diarmund. "You can sleep it off at the barracks. Come on."

Anders also shot to his feet, and both men crowded Diarmund, clutching at his arms.

"But we haven't done anything wrong!" protested Anders.

"Please don't put us in the cells," begged Hawke. "I have to get back to t-treat Fenris. He'll be worried…"

"You're not under arrest…yet," Diarmund told them. "We're going to have a nice walk to Hightown, where you," he said to Hawke, "can see to your patient, and your friend can sleep it off in a cell. Like I said, you're not under arrest, so long as you don't cause any more trouble. Count yourselves lucky you know Donnic."

"Oh, thank you!" chorused Anders and Hawke, who would have hugged the guard had it not been for his stern expression.

"Now, come with me," he ordered. Not needing to be told twice, the two mages fell into line behind Diarmund and followed him out of The White Swallow.

As they left, they spied Tarquin and Simon, who had obviously made up, as Simon had Tarquin pinned against a wall, kissing him ferociously, their ragged moans punctuating the still, quiet night air.

"Maker!" Anders exclaimed. Diarmund merely rolled his eyes, clearly no stranger to such displays.

"I told you this place is brilliant, didn't I?" Hawke asked Anders, who chuckled in response, and the two friends slung an arm around each other for support as Diarmund escorted them to Hightown.

~o~O~o~

When Hawke finally arrived at the Hightown Estates, having said goodnight to Anders, it was almost midnight. Adrenaline alone carried him up the steps to Fenris's abode, and all kinds of things ran through his mind as he stood outside the door. He'd let Fenris down. Would he be concerned? Angry? Would he be distant, aloof? Which would be worse?

Scrubbing his face with his hands, he took a deep gulp of cold air, which sent him dizzy, and knocked on the door. Immediately, a curtain twitched, and, after a minute, the door was opened.

"Fen…I'm _so _sorry," Hawke blurted out, holding his hands up, blinking several times as the elf blurred in and out of focus. "I know I said ten, but I, erm…no. No. It's nobody's fault but mine. I lost track of time. I'm s-sorry. Are you all right?"

"Come inside, Hawke," Fenris said, stepping away from the door. His face was in shadow but his voice was calm. That was good, wasn't it? Maybe it was _too _calm, though.

Hawke stepped inside and Fenris closed and locked the door. The sudden change from the cold air to the warmth of the reception hall made Hawke feel woozy, and he swayed.

"You had better sit down," recommended Fenris.

"Erm…right," mumbled Hawke, needed no further persuasion. He staggered over to the settee and almost fell forward onto it, saving his dignity at the last minute with a dextrous twist of his waist, and he landed more or less on his bottom with a thud.

"You are inebriated," Fenris observed with a mite of mischief in his voice.

"Aw, Fen…leave off the big words tonight, eh? Er…I-I just called you Fen, didn't I? Do I normally call you that?"

A faint chuckle was heard from somewhere, and Hawke wasn't sure if it was him or Fenris who was laughing. Hawke touched his mouth; he wasn't smiling, so it must be Fenris. Fenris was laughing? That was good, wasn't it?

"Oy…how did you get on at the barracks, Fen? Are you a guard, now?"

"We will discuss it tomorrow, when you are more…perspicacious."

"Fen! Stop with the big words!" Hawke moaned, clutching the sides of his head. "You did that on purpose!"

Remain here," Fenris instructed him, laughing softly. "I will return shortly."

"I'm not going anywhere, mate," Hawke told him with a giggle. He watched as the black and white shape grew smaller, and finally disappeared through a doorway. Black and white? That meant Fenris was dressed for bed and wasn't wearing his armour. A delightful shiver travelled down Hawke's arms. Fenris was _naked _under those clothes. _Naked, by the Maker! _He giggled again, closed his eyes, and stretched the shivery feeling out of his muscles, feeling warm and silly. Feeling like he'd come home as he snuggled against the soft fabric of the settee.

When Fenris returned a short time later carrying tea and biscuits, Hawke, predictably, was snoring. Fenris moved quietly and set the tray down on a small table next to the settee, and sat down, gritting his teeth as the settee creaked. Hawke stirred and his eyes opened just a crack.

"Fen…Fen-Fen. C'mere."

"Hawke?"

"Yes, Fen-Fen?"

"_Never_ call me that again."

Hawke made a sound that Fenris suspected was a laugh, but sounded more like a braying donkey. Hawke sat himself up with exceptional difficulty and his head lolled back, Fenris noticing the twinkle of his brown eyes beneath his half-closed lids.

"Oh, Fen…" Hawke crooned, slapping a hand against his chest.

"Are you…_singing_?"

"Fen," Hawke continued tunelessly. "I just want you to know that you deserve the best…you're beautiful…"

Fenris covered his eyes with one hand and shook his head, a silent snigger vibrating through his body.

"You're beautiful…and I want you to know…you're far from the usual…far from the usual…"

"Hawke, have some tea. You should eat and drink something."

"You're a Full House, Fenris," Hawke babbled.

"A…'full house'?" Fenris cocked his head and an eyebrow shot up.

"The first one in the history of the game," Hawke told a puzzled Fenris, sidling closer to him. "You're a ten, Fenris. A perfect ten."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Fenris answered with a hesitant smile.

"You do that," Hawke whispered, laying his head on Fenris's shoulder and slinging one of his arms across the elf's chest. "It's all right, I'm not going to do anything…you're just so warm and lovely, like a huge elven pillow."

Fenris burst out laughing, the rocking of his shoulders causing Hawke's face to wobble.

"I love your laugh," Hawke murmured against Fenris's neck, his lips lightly grazing Fenris's skin, and the elf felt a thousand pins prick at his skin all at once. He shuddered.

Hawke felt it, and raised his head a little, opening his eyes as wide as they'd go. Briefly, he caught a flash of green, before Fenris averted his eyes. He did not, however, move away.

"Fenris? Maker, Fen…" Hawke moved his arm away from Fenris's chest and lightly brushed the elf's face with his fingers. "Fenris…" With the last of his strength, Hawke gently turned Fenris's head towards him and pushed his lips against Fenris's, which were just as soft, warm and inviting as the settee.

Losing himself utterly, and finally overwhelmed by fatigue, his hand fell away from Fenris's face, and his lips slid down the elf's cheek, his eyes fluttering closed as he slumped against Fenris's shoulder.


	32. Chapter 32

Hawke's eyes opened to blackness. Not the blackness of night, whereupon, once one's eyes had adjusted to the gloom, vague outlines and shapes would at least be faintly discernible, but here, there was a vast, impenetrable _nothing_. A creeping, hermetic blackness that chilled his blood and seeped into his very bones…

Hawke clawed at his eyes, thrashing around in panic. "Help! Maker help me! I've gone blind!"

He stopped flailing as his fingers made contact with something crusty. And a bit oozy. "Oh, crap, my eyelids are stuck together. That would explain it, then."

He slumped in relief and began plucking chunks of sleep away from his eyelashes. He shifted, and the blackness turned to redness as he felt warmth fall across his face.

Where was he? Wherever it was, he wanted to stay there; it was warm and soft and smelled of…a huge, languid smile stretched his mouth. Wherever he was, it smelled of Fenris. Fenris _without_ the garlic, that was.

He reluctantly opened his eyes, quickly closing them again as the morning sun stabbed into them. He placed his hand over them and opened them again. He was lying down on the settee at the mansion, his boots sitting on the floor.

"I don't remember taking them off," he mumbled, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand. He pushed himself up a little and yawned.

"Fenris? Are you about?" he called out, his husky voice scratching the back of his throat, causing him to cough, which quickly turned into a hacking bark. He did his best to suppress it as it wasn't the most attractive of sounds.

"Fenris?"

His voice echoed around the reception hall and then fell dead. Hawke knitted his brows together and concentrated as best he could. Where would Fenris be? Didn't he mention that he had to go to the barracks this morning? Or was that yesterday?

Glancing to his side, he noticed that a sandwich and a large glass of water had been left for him on the small table next to the settee. The sight of the sandwich awoke something savage within him and he snatched it, cramming it into his mouth. Anything to take the taste of garbage away.

Garbage? Had he been…? Oh, yes! Of course, he'd been drinking. He sat back and recalled the fun evening he'd had with Anders, especially the look on Anders's face when he'd realised where they were. As Hawke replayed the night's events in his mind, his memories became fuzzier and fuzzier the later into the evening he went.

Frowning as he took a sip of water, he vaguely remembered…a guard? He then recalled a blurry walk back to Hightown with Anders. And then…he'd called at the mansion, where Fenris _hadn't _been angry with him.

"Thank the Maker for that!" He gulped down the rest of the water and slowly stood up, noting with relief that, although he had a headache, it wasn't _too _bad.

Gathering his glass and plate, he trudged towards the kitchen, a faint ditty playing in the back of his mind. Hawke hummed along to it; it was a love song that was well-known in southern Ferelden, and he was pleased that he still remembered some of the words.

"You're beautiful…" he sang, and then stopped dead.

Uh-oh.

He hadn't…no, he _wouldn't_ have…sung it…to_ Fenris_?

Hawke's eyes widened into perfect circles, and his mouth followed closely behind. "You didn't…oh! You did! Come on, brain, help me out, here!"

His brain duly complied and the image of a laughing Fenris was brought to the forefront of his mind. Good! Good. Fenris had _laughed_. He may have been a little embarrassed, but a laugh was good. Better than a punch. Or having his heart ripped out.

Somewhat relieved, Hawke continued into the kitchen and stood next to the sink. So, what else had happened the night before?

Calling on his brain again, Hawke fervently hoped he hadn't done anything else to show himself up in front of Fenris, like being sick or doing something he wouldn't normally do when sober. He tried in vain to remember taking his boots off, lying down on the settee and covering himself with blankets. When had that happened? How _had _he gotten to sleep?

The clatter of the glass and plate as they crashed into each other on their way down into the sink startled Hawke into near-sobriety. "What, what, what? What did you do_ that_ for? Oh, Maker…now he _knows_…actually, he probably got an inkling when you _sang _to him, you bloody fool! Crap! No wonder he's disappeared!"

A spike of panic drove into his belly and he suddenly felt very hot. And sick. He rushed to the rear door of the kitchen and turned the key, stumbling out into the rear courtyard, gasping for fresh air. "I'm _not_ going to be sick. I'm _not_. Wait…" A cool breeze tickled his clammy skin. "Wait…it's not _that_ bad. You didn't wake up with a hole in your chest. He left a sandwich for you; he didn't have to do that, did he? He took your boots off…he didn't take your robe off, but you can't have everything. It's fine. I can-I can save this. Erm…"

He clasped his chin, stroking his beard, which felt greasy. "Right…bath first, and then I just need an excuse to visit the barracks without him thinking I'm some drooling stalker. Wait…Anders will be there! No…that's not good enough…he's a grown man and doesn't need me to collect him. Come on, brain: just help me one more time and I'll never bother you again."

His eyes wandered over to the compost heap on the far side of the courtyard, where he spied a few pieces of lemon peel and some discarded nettles.

Hawke gasped. "Of course! I'm a genius! Thanks, brain!" He grinned and gave his head a pat, and then his heart sank when he remembered exactly _why _he was going to the barracks. The spike of panic in his belly twisted like a knife.

"Bath, first. One thing at a time. It's going to be fine," Hawke reassured himself, not in the least bit convinced, and headed for the scullery to take his bath.

~o~O~o~

Donnic cleared his throat for the second time and folded his hands behind his back, straightening his posture. If she didn't say something soon, by the Maker, he was going to strangle her.

"Yes, Guardsman?" Aveline asked apathetically, not even bothering to look up from her paperwork.

"Guard-Captain Vallen," he began formally. "I am here to submit myself to the disciplinary process of the Kirkwall Guard."

Aveline's quill stopped on the parchment, and a small blot began to form. "Blast it!" she uttered, throwing the quill into the inkwell. She looked up at Donnic, who stood in front of her desk. "What? What did you say?"

Donnic took a deep breath and cleared his throat for the third time. "The way I spoke to you yesterday…it wasn't right. I overstepped the bounds of my authority. Erm…_your _authority, I mean. I, um…" Realising that he'd brought his hands to his front, and was toying with his gauntlets, he immediately placed them behind his back again. "I had this all prepared. What I was going to say, I mean. It's not really going as I'd planned."

Aveline sat back in her chair and fixed Donnic with her 'stern captain' look. "And?" she asked, hoping the edges of her mouth were pointing downwards.

"And…may I speak candidly, guard-captain?"

"You didn't feel the need to ask me that yesterday."

"I'm asking now."

She folded her arms, again reminding her face to remain stern. "By all means."

"The thing is, I sort of expected you to welcome Fenris into the Guard with open arms. When you didn't, I reacted strongly because I thought you were being unreasonable. It didn't occur to me that you have a job to do, and part of that job is protecting us lot. I should have considered that, but I didn't, and that was wrong of me. I would have said anything to get Fenris into the Guard. What I did say was unworthy of both of us. I'm sorry, Av…guard-captain."

"Right."

"What I said about you being callous…that's not true. You're tough, but you're also fair. And you're certainly not a coward; in fact, you're one of the bravest people I've ever met. I, um, I had no right to act the way I did, and I expect to be suitably punished."

"Right," Aveline repeated, unable to come up with anything cleverer than that. She frowned, and began rifling through some of her papers. Placing a small stack in front of her, she ventured a glance up at Donnic and, noticing that he'd broken out in a sweat, again reminded herself not to smile. Tough, that was what he'd just called her. Tough, but fair.

"One month's night duty in Darktown, starting tomorrow," she told him, and saw him once again correct his posture. "Dismissed."

"Yes, Guard-Captain," he said with a stiff bow. "Thank you." He turned and walked towards the door.

"And take Fenris with you," she added as he opened the door. "It'll be a good education for him."

Donnic turned back, barely managing to keep the smile that threatened to burst his face contained. "As you command, Guard-Captain," he finished, and, with another bow, exited the office and closed the door.

"Well, you look like the cat that got the cream!" a familiar voice greeted him.

"Hawke! What brings you here?" asked Donnic, reaching for the mage's hand. "Come to check on Anders?"

"Ah…you heard about that, then?"

"I heard that the two of you were escorted from an…_establishment_ last night, yes," Donnic replied, his mouth twitching with mirth.

"It was just a misunderstanding," Hawke mumbled sheepishly, and Donnic laughed. "Is Anders still here?"

"No, he was turfed out at first light. He went back to Darktown to sleep off his hangover. I must say, you look quite chipper this morning, Hawke. Drinking and getting thrown out of pubs obviously agrees with you: your face is positively glowing."

Hawke didn't mention that the fact his face was glowing was due to his heart and nervous system working at twice their normal rate. "I don't suppose Fenris is here this morning, is he?" he asked casually.

"Why, yes; he was here first thing. He's teaching some of the younger recruits a few moves. I can't tell you how excited we all are to have him among us. We're the first regiment in the Free Marches to have an elf in our ranks, you know, and with skills like his, I can see him rising pretty quickly."

"That's great," Hawke said with a bright smile, before the spike of panic he'd been carrying around once again made its presence known.

"Do you want me to fetch him for you?" asked Donnic.

"Erm, no. I-I don't want to disturb him. I just brought his medicine; for his foot, you know? He, erm…forgot it this morning." He held up a small waterskin.

"I can pass that onto him if you like," Donnic offered.

"Oh, thanks," replied Hawke, and both men made way as a large group of sweaty men, and a few women, spilled into the barracks.

"Here he is now, Hawke," said Donnic, and for a second Hawke wondered if he could lose himself among the crowd of recruits and sneak out. Too late, his heart stopped as the crowd parted and a pair of large green eyes bored into him. Fenris didn't look displeased to see him, but neither did he look pleased. He looked neutral. Hawke couldn't decide whether that was a good thing or not.

"You have a visitor, Fenris," Donnic declared, and the elf stepped forward, not taking his eyes off Hawke.

"So I see," he said in a perfectly _neutral _tone.

"I, uh, was just passing by," Hawke stammered. "You-you forgot this." He held the water skin up and Fenris frowned. "Your medicine," Hawke explained.

Fenris's frown melted away and once again the neutral expression settled over his features. "Oh. That was thoughtful of you," he said with a nod, taking the water skin from Hawke.

"I'll, erm, I'll be going, then," Hawke mumbled, feeling as though his heart had expanded to fill the whole of his torso as both it and his stomach thudded in tandem.

"One moment," said Fenris, who walked over to Donnic and said something that Hawke couldn't hear.

Donnic pointed to a door at the far end of the room. "Use my quarters if you like; there's no one sleeping in there at the moment," he told the elf. "I need to speak to you afterwards; we've been given an assignment together," he said with a grin.

"That is good to hear," Fenris replied, and walked towards the room, casting a backward glance at Hawke as he opened the door.

"I think he wants you to go in," Donnic informed Hawke.

"Oh…Oh, yes, erm, all right." Hawke's feet somehow carried him forward to Donnic's quarters, and he took a deep breath before he entered.

"Close the door," Fenris said. Hawke's hands, seemingly under the control of someone else, pushed the door shut.

"How are you feeling, Hawke?" Fenris asked from across the room.

_A nervous bloody wreck, thank you very much. _"Oh, fine. Thanks for asking. Erm…sorry I wasn't up in time to make your medicine. I hope you didn't mind me bringing it to you."

"I did not want to wake you. I am grateful you brought this to me."

Hawke nodded and released a shaky breath, taking a few cautious steps closer to the elf. "Fenris…erm, about last night…"

"There is no need to explain, Hawke. You were intoxicated. We all do things under the influence of alcohol that we would not normally do." His voice and posture were stiff and formal, and it occurred to Hawke for a moment that he almost sounded offended.

"Wait…you think…you think I…kissed you because I was drunk?"

"Well, you were, weren't you?"

"Y-yes, I was, but…" Hawke pushed out another breath and ran his hand through his hair. "You think I needed to be drunk to want to kiss you?"

A slight chink appeared in Fenris's mask of neutrality. His eyes fell to the floor and he gave no reply.

"You think I came here to tell you that I'd made a _mistake_?" Hawke asked, not knowing where his surge of courage had suddenly come from, but he was going to make the most of it while it was here. "Fenris, can't you see what's right under your nose? How much more obvious do I have to be?"

Fenris's mask slipped completely, and his brow furrowed as Hawke took a further step closer.

"Do I look drunk to you now, Fenris?"

"What?" Fenris's eyes darted from side to side and he shifted his weight, but didn't back away.

Hawke took one more step closer, bringing him less than a foot away from Fenris. "Do I look drunk now?" he repeated.

Fenris's mouth fell open slightly, and, after a pause, he slowly shook his head.

"So, let's say if I kissed you again, while I was sober, would you think _that_ was a mistake?"

Fenris's eyes stopped moving and settled on Hawke's chest. He shook his head again and Hawke noticed the rise of his shoulders that accompanied his sharp intake of breath.

Without another word, Hawke gently rested his hands on Fenris's shoulders and bent forward, placing the softest of kisses again his lips. He let them rest there for a few seconds, and, although Fenris did not move his own lips, Hawke felt the elf's eyelashes tickle his cheeks as his eyes closed.

As Hawke slowly pulled away, the pounding he'd felt in his chest and stomach had now also manifested itself in his head, throat and arms. He removed his hands from Fenris's shoulders, his breathing matching the fluttering in his chest.

"Well, Fenris? Was that…all right?"

For a moment, Fenris didn't speak. Hawke had never felt so excited and terrified in his entire life.

"Was what all right?" asked the elf quietly.

"E-eh? I meant…I…" Hawke's eyes narrowed and he affected a scowl. "Is this elven humour, or something?"

As one edge of Fenris's mouth turned upward, everything that was and had ever been in Hawke's life instantly became right and wonderful.

Although Fenris's eyes were still fixed on Hawke's chest, Hawke knew that they were full of mischief. "Do I need to jog your memory?" asked the mage softly, moving his head closer to Fenris's.

"That would be appreciated, Hawke." The elf's lips spread into a shy smile, and his face flushed.

As Hawke's lips once again brushed against Fenris's, it occurred to him that the elf was not an experienced kisser. He took Fenris's hands and placed them on his own waist, Hawke's hands moving upwards, one hand tangling through Fenris's hair, which was damp with sweat. With the other, he placed a finger against Fenris's lower lip and gently pushed it down, taking it into his own mouth and softly tugging on it.

Encouraged by the shudder that vibrated against him, Hawke deepened the kiss and felt Fenris's arms wrap around him, slowly and tentatively searching out the contours of his back. Feeling Fenris's lips part of their own accord, a fire ignited and raged through Hawke's core and he pressed his body hard against Fenris's, moaning as he devoured the elf's lips.

Then, Fenris quickly pulled away, panting.

"I-I'm sorry," Hawke gasped, taking a step backward. "I'm sorry, Fenris; I got carried away."

"No, it's-it's fine," said Fenris quietly, taking a deep, shaky breath.

"No, it's not fine." Hawke had a feeling that that was the first time Fenris had been kissed, or, at least the first time he could remember. "I-I didn't intend to turn into an animal, Fenris; I'm sorry."

Fenris bit his bottom lip and laughed softly. "You are hardly an animal, Hawke. Do not trouble yourself. It was…" He tilted his head and his eyes briefly locked with Hawke's before he averted them. "…nice."

"Oh. Well, that's…good, then." Hawke also bit his lip and for a moment, neither man spoke.

"I should go, Hawke," Fenris said after a few moments. "People will talk."

Hawke looked up and his belly fluttered at the mischievous smile that met him. "Let them," he breathed.

A brilliant flash of white teeth accompanied Fenris's laugh, and Hawke felt like hugging him and sweeping him off his feet.

"Yes, erm, I-I'll be making tracks," Hawke stuttered.

"I will be finished here shortly," Fenris told him. "Where will you be?"

"Oh, I'm going to pay Anders a quick visit, and then I'll probably be at The Hanged Man. Varric and I are going to discuss some ways to come up with more funds for the expedition."

"Well, I hope you are not considering anything illegal," Fenris said sternly, crossing his arms. "I am a guard of the city now, you know."

"Erm, Fenris…why do you think I was so desperate for you to join the Guard in the first place?" Hawke teased. "We need a bent guard in our little group to cover up our more unsavoury activities."

Fenris's slender shoulders shook and he threw his head back and guffawed. Tears momentarily sprung to Hawke's eyes at such a wonderful sight before he quickly dissolved into laughter.

The two men once again stood in silence, the occasional quiet snigger bursting forth.

"I'll be off, then," Hawke said.

"That is the third time you've said that, and yet, you remain here," Fenris observed with a quirk of an eyebrow.

Hawke nodded and moved over to the door, making sure he put some distance between them before he spoke. "You're right…I shouldn't keep you. See you later…Fen-Fen."

"I _told _you never to c…" Fenris's words were cut off as Hawke slammed the door and scampered out of the Keep.

~o~O~o~

Hawke sailed through Hightown, humming softly to himself and bidding everyone he passed a good morning, whether he knew them or not. He had to hold himself back from hugging the few passers-by he did know. His steps were light, and his spirits, soaring. His belly, which had been in a tight knot for most of the morning, still fluttered, but it was a good kind of fluttering. If it hadn't been for the guard presence along his route, he probably would have burst into song, but he knew he'd had a lucky escape last night, and didn't want to be thrown in the cells for being drunk when he _wasn't _drunk.

He called on Anders at the clinic, who immediately guessed that something had happened because of the shit-eating grin that his friend wore.

"So…get lucky last night, did you, Hawke?" he asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

"I've _always _been lucky, Anders," Hawke answered, and gave Anders a bear-hug, lifting him off the ground.

"Put me down!" Anders protested, and Hawke complied. "I don't want any jealous boyfriends coming in here, sorting me out!"

"Boyfriend," Hawke repeated, and snickered. "That sounds weird. I wonder what Fenris would make of that?"

"So…_did_ you?" Anders asked again.

"No! We just…kissed," he said with a dopey grin.

Anders smiled, and Hawke could see that it was genuine. "Well, it's nice to see you so happy, Hawke. I hope you get on all right."

"Come 'ere, you!" Hawke grabbed Anders's cheeks and kissed him firmly on the forehead. "I love ya!" he chirped, throwing an arm around Anders's shoulders. "Fancy some lunch? On me."

Hawke's happiness was infectious, and Anders laughed, nodding. "You bet. Not at The White Swallow, though, eh?"

"I don't think we'll be welcome back there, somehow," Hawke guessed with a shrug. "I said I'd meet Varric there; we're going to discuss some money-making ventures, if you're interested. Fenris will also be joining us, later on."

Anders nodded. "I'll be good," he promised.

Hawke tightened his grip on Anders's shoulders. "I'm so glad things are all right again between us, Anders. I've missed you, friend."

"Me too," Anders replied, smiling brightly, no longer feeling as isolated and troubled as he had for the last few days. "Tell you what, I'll get the first round this time, eh?"

"Too bloody right you will," Hawke laughed, and the two friends left the clinic with their arms around each other.

~o~O~o~

After a pleasant lunch with Varric and Bethany, Fenris joined them, and the four discussed various ways – legal ways – to boost the expedition's coffers. Although Fenris and Anders didn't really speak to each other, they were on their best behaviour and, to Hawke's pleasure, they didn't argue, either.

Just before six bells, Hawke remembered that Fenris's next dose of medicine was due, and they bid farewell to their friends. Anders stayed behind, having been invited to Varric's card game.

As they left the pub, Fenris and Hawke discussed the elf's appointment in the Guard.

"My armour will be ready in a few days' time, and I will be able to move into the barracks," Fenris told Hawke.

"You know, it's a pity," Hawke began. "I mean, I'm glad you'll be safe at the barracks, but…I'll kind of miss the settee."

"Take it, if you wish," Fenris offered.

"I won't just miss the settee, and you know it," Hawke teased.

"We'll think of something," Fenris promised him, and they smiled at each other.

"You haven't had a reading lesson, yet," said Hawke. "How about we have it when we get back?"

"It will be dark, soon," Fenris reminded him, pointing in the direction of the setting sun.

"That's all right; we can get some candles going, grab a bottle of wine, and cosy up on the settee with a book. What do you think?"

Fenris glanced sideways at Hawke and smiled warmly. "I would enjoy that, Hawke."

As they slowly progressed through Lowtown, the streets became emptier as the sun began to set. In the distance, they heard the bells of the chantry toll six times.

"The Guard is changing over," Fenris stated, drawing his sword. "I'm just being cautious," he explained quietly. "The number of guards in town is at its lowest during changeover." He increased his pace and walked ahead of Hawke, indicating for him to fall back.

After they'd walked a short distance, Fenris held up a hand for Hawke to stop, and then pressed a finger against his lips, beckoning for Hawke to come closer. Fenris pointed towards an alleyway, where a group of men were heading around a corner with a lone female dressed in chantry robes.

"What's she playing at?" Hawke whispered.

"She will be robbed, if she is lucky," Fenris whispered back. "Come."

Hawke groaned, annoyed that an idiotic woman was going to ruin his romantic plans for the evening.

"We will still have time for the reading lesson, Hawke," Fenris smiled.

"We'd better." He readied his staff, and they quietly walked forward towards the alley.


	33. Chapter 33

_Ugh! Throughout this chapter there are several Qunari phrases which I've translated at the end of the chapter. For some reason, though, the site has not followed my HTML instructions to list the numbers in superscript, so apologies if the numbers dotted throughout look a bit clunky._

__~o~O~o~

Fenris and Hawke waited around a corner and watched from a discreet distance to see if, as they strongly suspected, the gang of men would attack the woman.

Their suspicions were soon confirmed: after a brief conversation, one of the men attempted to grab the woman's coin purse. Stupidly, she resisted, and was seized by two of the men and dragged into a shop doorway.

Having the element of surprise as their advantage, Fenris and Hawke charged to the woman's rescue, and, after a surprisingly easy fight, most of the men were disabled by Hawke's magic; a few others lay dead, courtesy of Fenris.

After the elf had informed one of the guards on duty in Lowtown of what had occurred, the two men returned to the woman to check on her, finding her cowering in a corner, not far from where the attack had taken place.

"You are…a mage?" she asked warily as Hawke approached her. "An apostate?"

"An apostate who has just saved your life," Fenris reminded her sternly.

"What did you think you were doing, going off into an alley with a group of armed men?" Hawke questioned her.

The woman shook her head and clasped her hands together. "I am searching for able men to assist me with an urgent matter. Those…men assured me that they would aid me."

"They almost _aided_ you to the Maker's side," Fenris remarked acerbically, wiping blood off his sword with a rag. "Come with us; we will escort you to the chantry."

"No," the woman asserted, smoothing down her robes. "There is no time to lose. Perhaps…you two seem able, as well as honourable, men. Yes…you could be just what I'm looking for."

Hawke shook his head firmly. "I'm sorry, but whatever it is you think we can help you with, we have plans. We're on our way to Hightown; let us see you back."

The woman took a folded piece of paper out of her pocket and pressed it into Hawke's palm. "Please, meet me at this address as soon as you are able. I will explain everything when you arrive." With that, she turned and left the alley.

"Wait! I didn't agree to…!" Hawke's mouth gaped open, and he stared at the woman's retreating back.

"Where is this address?" Fenris asked, stepping closer to Hawke.

"No! We've already helped her; we have to get back for your reading lesson," whined Hawke.

"If we do not assist her, she may turn to street thugs again," Fenris quantified, gesturing at the note in Hawke's hand. "I would not want to be responsible for her placing herself in danger again; she is clearly dull-witted."

"Is this Guardsman Fen-Fen speaking?" Hawke teased, unfolding the note, and Fenris crossed his arms, a hint of a warning in his eyes. "By the way, I loved the way you told her off: that was very authoritative of you," Hawke added with a wink. "And I'm dying to see you in this new armour of yours."

One of Fenris's eyebrows rose, and the edges of his eyes crinkled softly. "…The address?"

Hawke tutted and scanned the piece of paper. "It's in Lowtown, not far from here."

"Then let us see what is afoot," said Fenris, walking ahead.

"But, Fenris…"

"There will be plenty of time for reading lessons, Hawke," Fenris called from ahead. "We should investigate this."

"I couldn't give a monkey's nuts about the reading lesson," Hawke bleated, trudging behind the elf.

Fenris halted and his head slowly turned towards Hawke, his dark brow rising higher.

"Doesn't that _eyebrow_ of yours ever get tired?" Hawke asked with a note of petulance in his voice.

"No, Hawke; in fact, since we met, it has had so much exercise that it is now the strongest eyebrow in all of Thedas."

"Bloody cheek," Hawke muttered as he caught up.

"You were saying that you did not care for the reading lesson?" queried Fenris with a playful glint in his eyes.

"No…I didn't actually _say _that," Hawke began, holding his hands up in appeasement, trying not to laugh at Fenris's ever-ascending supercilium. "What I _meant _was…erm…your medicine…yes! That's it…the reading lesson pales in significance compared to your medicine. You _have _to have that; it's important."

"I…see," said Fenris slowly. "And the cosying-up on the settee?"

"Weeeell," Hawke drawled with a shrug, "that would have been _nice_, I suppose, but the medicine really is what I'm concerned about: I'm just being a conscientious healer."

Fenris stared at Hawke, his face expressionless.

"What, no eyebrow?"

"The unthinkable has happened, Hawke," Fenris stated as he continued to walk on. "You've worn it out."

Hawke stood in place, shaking his head and trying not to laugh, but failing miserably.

Fenris turned back again. "I am merely being a conscientious guard, Hawke."

Hawke groaned and started to follow the elf. "Whose stupid idea _was_ it for you to become a guard, anyway?" he complained.

"Not mine," Fenris chuckled quietly.

Although crestfallen that his plans for an evening of snuggling had been all but destroyed, the memory of Fenris's earlier kiss lingered, making Hawke's lips tingle, and he bounded forward with renewed zeal, nudging Fenris with his elbow as he arrived next to him. "I expect a double reading lesson when we get back."

Fenris glanced at Hawke's elbow and nodded solemnly. "And will that also entail a double cosying-up on the settee?"

"Only if we can find the time. Priorities and all that, you know?"

"I am certain we will find a way to make time for…priorities," replied Fenris, and he shyly nudged Hawke back, who barely resisted the urge to giggle like a loon, striving for a modicum of decorum. A chuckle escaped, despite his efforts.

Before long, they arrived at the address provided by the blonde-haired woman. "Let's get this done quickly," said Hawke. "Medicine," he reminded the elf.

Fenris stepped in front of Hawke and once again drew his sword. He then pushed the door open without knocking upon it.

As soon as they entered, a man dressed in templar armour leapt out of a chair and unsheathed his sword, advancing on them.

Hawke stumbled back in surprise and reached for his staff. "A templar? What the bloody hell…?"

"Just try it," snarled Fenris, his own sword already at the templar's throat.

"Varnell! Stand down!" commanded a familiar voice. A look of doubt came into the templar's eyes and he slowly lowered his weapon as the blonde-haired woman entered the room. Fenris, however, did not lower his.

"All right, just what's going on here?" demanded Hawke.

"Please," implored the sister. "Varnell is my bodyguard; precautions were necessary. We did not mean to frighten you." With a nod to Varnell, the templar stepped back and sheathed his sword, but Fenris advanced on him, keeping his own sword directed at Varnell's throat. "I see you have similar protection," the woman said to Hawke. "Please instruct him to withdraw."

"He is _not _my bodyguard," Hawke said angrily. "He'll _withdraw _when _he_ sees fit!"

"Then you have my apologies," she said to Fenris. "Please…when I explain, you will understand our caution."

Hawke and Fenris exchanged a glance, and Fenris lowered his sword, but kept it drawn.

"Talk," Hawke ordered.

"I am Sister Petrice, and this, as you know, is Ser Varnell," she said, gesturing at the templar. "Might we know your names?"

Met with silence, she nodded. "Your reticence is understandable. I have come into possession of…well, see for yourselves." She walked through to the next room, followed by Varnell. Fenris once again pushed in front of Hawke, his sword at the ready.

Both men stopped in their tracks at the sight that met them. At the rear of the room stood a gigantic Kossith, who was bound with heavy chains and a restraining collar. His horns had been removed and his mouth sewn shut, although it appeared an attempt had been made to remove the stitches.

Fenris cautiously approached the captive and studied him carefully. "A saarebas?" he asked no one in particular.

"A Qunari mage? What have you done to him?" accused Hawke, arriving beside Fenris.

"His bonds are not of our making," explained Petrice, "but of his own people."

"Where is his karataam, his Arvaarad?" demanded the elf.

"He became separated from them," replied Petrice.

Fenris regarded Petrice warily for a moment, and then turned his gaze back to the sarebaas. "Then he will be put to death," Fenris surmised.

"What?" spluttered Hawke. "What do you mean? What's a…karataam?"

"Perhaps you should ask Sister Petrice," Fenris answered shortly, once again casting a doubtful glance at her. "_She_ seems to know what it means."

"I have heard the term in passing," she claimed, "but I would not be able to provide an adequate description, I fear."

"His karataam are the group with which he travels, under the command of Arvaarad. I suppose they are similar to your templars," Fenris clarified, not taking his eyes off Petrice. "In accordance with the Qun, a saarebas that becomes detached from his karataam is Issala: dust."

"But why?" asked Hawke, clearly disturbed. "Why don't they just recapture him? Why must he be put to death?"

"The Arvaarad are not as lenient as the Templars," Fenris explained, turning back to Hawke. "Whereas the Templars would _suspect_ an apostate of practising blood magic or of being possessed, and would study the mage for signs of those occurrences, to Arvaarad, possession is inevitable once a saarebas has been separated from its karataam. They do not leave anything to chance."

Fenris took a step closer to the saarebas and looked up at him. "Asit tal-eb1."

The creature nodded once, but made no sound.

"He sees the way of things," Fenris stated gravely. "He must be returned to his karataam forthwith."

"And what is _your_ opinion, serah?" Petrice asked Hawke, sensing that he was moved by the saarebas's plight. "Would _you_ condemn this proud being to ritual death for nothing more than being a mage?"

"It is the way of the Qunari," Fenris interjected. "Their affairs are not for us to meddle in."

Hawke stepped closer to the saarebas and examined his collar. "Does this hurt?" he asked the creature. "Are you in pain?"

The saarebas gave no answer.

"Hawke," Fenris said quietly, placing a hand on the mage's arm. "This is not our affair. We should not interfere."

"Serah Hawke," Petrice said, having heard Fenris say his name. "Your friend seems quite willing to walk away from this, but you yourself have not yet spoken."

"Wait a minute," said Hawke, turning to face her. "What do _you_ care what happens to him? Doesn't the Chantry consider the Qunari to be heathens? And you certainly have no love for mages; I can testify to that."

"That may be so," Petrice answered smoothly, "but the more enlightened among us are able to look past such things. When I heard of this creature's predicament, I knew I could not turn my back on him."

"What do you want from us?" Hawke asked, hearing a quiet sigh from Fenris.

"Take him away from here, where his captors cannot reach him and he can be with others of his kind…the Tal'Vashoth, I believe they are called. You, as a mage, walk freely among us, Serah Hawke. Does this creature not deserve the same?"

"If you care for his predicament as you claim, why do _you_ not emancipate him?" Fenris asked suspiciously.

"As your friend so shrewdly stated, Ser Elf, the Chantry considers his kind to be heathens. I cannot be seen rendering aid to the Qunari, as much as I would desire to."

Hawke exhaled and once again looked up at the saarebas. "What do _you _want to do?" he asked the creature.

Again, the saarebas did not answer.

Groaning in frustration, Hawke was taken aside by Fenris.

"What he wants is clear, Hawke. He is bound by the will of the Qun, and knows his fate. We should take him to the Arishok."

"But they'll kill him!" Hawke whispered harshly.

"Yes, that is their way. It is not up to us to decide his fate; that has already been determined."

"But I can't…" Hawke placed his hands on top of his head. "Fenris, I respect what you're saying, I really do, but I can't just let him to be put to death, can I? Surely he has a right to decide his own fate?"

Fenris exhaled and went to reply, but instead shook his head.

"Fenris…when we first came in here, I was determined to say no to whatever it was this Petrice wanted. But, now I've seen him…I-I can't walk away from this, Fenris. I'm sorry."

Fenris held Hawke's gaze for a moment, and then nodded. "Let us be off, then."

"Y-you'll help me? But…what changed your mind?"

"I have not changed my mind. We will discuss it later," said Fenris, his voice free of reproach. Hawke placed a hand on Fenris's shoulder and softly squeezed it. He then turned back to Petrice.

"All right, we'll help," he told her.

"Wait," Fenris interrupted, stepping between Hawke and Petrice. "We should bring the others. I do not trust her motives," he said with a stony glance at the sister.

"That is your privilege, Ser Elf," she answered calmly, but her eyes narrowed slightly.

"Good idea, Fenris," Hawke replied. "We'll be back soon," he told Petrice.

~o~O~o~

Varric was pleased that Hawke and Fenris interrupted the card game, as his hand was rotten; Anders, however, was not as happy, as he appeared to be winning. The game was soon forgotten, though, once Hawke had explained the reason for the interruption, and Anders and Bethany eagerly walked on ahead, neither of them having ever seen a saarebas before. Varric followed closely behind, humorously taunting Anders for having lost the game. Hawke and Fenris fell behind a little.

"So, Fenris, tell me what made you reconsider," Hawke prompted. "I'm grateful and everything, but for a moment there I thought we were going to have an argument."

Fenris considered this briefly, before a faint smile ghosted across his lips. "Well, Hawke, apart from the fact that you are a consummate _pertinax asinus_," he quipped, eliciting a laugh from Hawke; his voice then became quieter, and his expression pensive. "Something you said gave me pause."

"Oh, yes?"

Fenris nodded and stared at the ground as they walked along. "When you said that the creature should be allowed to decide his own fate, it occurred to me…" He glanced up at Hawke for a moment, and then once again looked at the ground. "When I was a slave, I never entertained any notions, any hopes, of ever escaping or of changing my lot in life. Being Danarius's slave _was _my life: I had resigned myself to my fate, Hawke, just as the saarebas has. And, although I am not entirely comfortable with interfering in Qunari affairs, perhaps there is a larger issue at stake, here."

Hawke smiled at Fenris in admiration, and then a frown formed as the elf's words sunk in. "You never…thought of escaping? Then how _did _you escape?"

"Danarius and I were travelling through Seheron one time, when we were attacked by Qunari rebels; such skirmishes are commonplace, as the rebels and the Imperium have fought over the island for centuries. I managed to get Danarius to a ship, but there was no room for a slave. I was left behind, and I barely managed to get out of the city alive."

"Was that when the…" Hawke began, but hesitated, not wanting to dredge up unpleasant memories for Fenris.

"Yes, Hawke, that was when the Fog Warriors took me in," Fenris said, his voice barely a whisper. "Up until that moment, I had never dreamed that another life was possible, that…" He fell quiet, and they slowed their pace, allowing the others to walk further ahead, and once again looked up at Hawke, but this time did not look away. "Had the rebels not attacked, I would still be a slave, and I never would have experienced any of…this," he said softly, glancing around the street.

"You mean picturesque Lowtown?" Hawke teased, hoping to lift Fenris's spirits a little.

"No, Hawke." Fenris shook his head and held Hawke's gaze. "That is not what I meant."

They shared a moment of silence, and Hawke stepped a little closer to Fenris, his breathing heavy as he ventured a quick glance around. He then brought his hand up to Fenris's cheek and gently ran his fingers down the elf's face, letting his hand rest on Fenris's chin.

"You know something, Fenris?" he whispered. "I think you're amazing."

A soft light came into Fenris's eyes, and he hung his head slightly, taking a deep breath, and neither man spoke for a moment.

"Hey, Hawke!" called Varric from up ahead. "Is this the place?"

Hawke moved his hand from Fenris's face and he groaned, his head falling back. "Now, whose stupid idea was it to bring _them_ along, Fenris?"

"Ah…that _was _my idea, Hawke," Fenris conceded, and he flashed a radiant smile at Hawke, who laughed in return.

"We're coming, Varric," Hawke called over, sighing. "Yes, that's the place."

~o~O~o~

This time, Fenris _did _knock at the door, having first warned Anders and Bethany that a templar was inside. Ser Varnell opened the door, and the group were ushered in without a word. Anders took a moment to cast the templar a dirty look before he was dragged further inside by Hawke. Once the three newcomers laid eyes on the saarebas, the silence seemed to deepen as they stared mutely at it.

"Maker's breath!" Anders and Varric exclaimed as one, and Anders charged forward toward the creature, and spun around, his eyes flashing. "What have you bastards done to him?" he demanded of Petrice and Varnell.

While Petrice repeated her story, Bethany and Varric approached the creature and attempted to talk to him, with no success. Although Anders seemed wary of Petrice, and even more so of Varnell, he was eventually convinced of her concern for the creature, and urged Hawke to get going.

"We can't very well take him through the streets, can we?" Hawke stated and turned to Petrice. "How are we supposed to move him?"

Petrice moved behind the creature and uncovered a trapdoor in the floor. "There is a series of underground passageways that will take you out of the city," she began to explain, before she was interrupted by Fenris.

"No. This is too convenient. I do not like this, Hawke."

"Well, of course you don't like it," Anders piped up. "Anything that would lead to a mage gaining his freedom…"

"Fenris _happens _to agree with us, Anders," Hawke defended.

"He _what_?" A questioning look came into Anders's eyes, then, but he offered no apology. "Oh," he mumbled.

"I don't really see what choice we have, Fenris," Hawke said to the elf, and he looked at Petrice warily, having been put on the defensive by Fenris's suspicions. He walked over to the saarebas and explained what they intended to do. He then called Fenris over. "Can you ask him what his name is, Fenris?"

Fenris shook his head. "Qunari have no names, as you and I do, but designations: he is Saarebas."

"I have named the creature," Petrice announced, looking pleased with herself. "I call him Ketojan: a bridge between worlds."

"You demean the creature with your pidgin-Kossith," Fenris spat shortly. "He will not dignify your romantic drivel with an answer."

Forcing back a smile, Hawke looked up at the creature. "Saarebas, we are going to take you out of the city. This way, if you please."

"After me, Hawke," Fenris insisted, and pulled up the trapdoor. With a final dark look at Petrice, he lowered himself down, and was followed by the others.

~o~O~o~

The group journeyed through the underground tunnels and chambers, at all times keeping a safe distance from Sarebaas, as none of them knew what he was capable of. Their curiosity was soon sated, however, when they ran into a gang of thugs who attacked them without provocation. Saarebas not only fought alongside Hawke's group, but appeared to protect them on several occasions, proving himself to be a highly capable mage. Much to Hawke's annoyance and frustration, however, Sarebaas still refused to, or was unable to, answer any of his questions. Even an attempt by Fenris, speaking in the creature's native tongue, proved fruitless.

By the time they emerged from the tunnels, finding themselves somewhere on the coast, they determined from the position of the moon that it was well after midnight.

They had not gone far when Fenris, who led the group, held his hand up. They all came to a halt.

"What is it, Fenris?" Hawke asked as he caught up with the elf.

Fenris jerked his head forward, his expression grim. "His karataam."

Hawke squinted and looked ahead, barely able to discern a large group of Qunari up ahead. "What?" Hawke whispered. "What are _they_ doing here? How did they know…?"

"Precisely," growled Fenris as the others also caught up. "Just how _did _they know?"

"Are you saying we've been set up?" Anders demanded.

"Looks like they've spotted us, Hawke," Varric said quietly as the Qunari began to walk in their direction. "I hope you've got your story straight."

"I will speak with them," Fenris volunteered, "although I am not optimistic."

"Basra Vashedan2," the leader of the karataam called out. "I am Arvaraad, and I claim possession of saarebas at your heel."

Fenris walked ahead and approached the karataam. "Arvaraadkost. Maraas shokra3."

Ignoring Fenris's greeting, Arvaraad pointed at Sarebaas. "The members of his karataam were killed by Tal'Vashoth," Arvaraad told Fenris, "but their disposal leads only here, to saarebas, and you."

"We've only just got here," Hawke said, stepping forward to stand at Fenris's side. "We had nothing to do with this. Do we_ look_ like we've just engaged Tal'Vashoth?"

"Irrelevant, Bas Sarebaas4," Arvaraad stated with a withering look at Hawke. "The crime is his freedom; his leash held by unknowing basra. We will not allow that danger to continue. Your kind may doom your own people; sarebaas will be properly confined." Arvaraad produced a long, yellow-metal rod, which he waved at Sarebaas.

"And what if he doesn't _want_ to be confined?" Hawke asked, sounding much braver than he felt.

Arvaraad took a few steps forward. "Sarebaas! Show that your will remains bound to the Qun!" he commanded.

Immediately, Sarebaas dropped to one knee and lowered his head.

"He came quite willingly with us," Hawke argued.

"He has only followed you because he _wants_ to be led," countered Arvaraad. "He is allowed no other purpose."

Doubt entered Hawke's thoughts for a moment as he held Arvaraad's gaze. Perhaps Fenris had been right: although Hawke strongly disagreed with the Qunari's stance on mages, did he have any right to interfere in the laws and customs of another race? In his peripheral vision he could see Anders, hopping from foot to foot: he would _definitely_ have something to say if Hawke released Sarebaas to Arvaraad, but Hawke couldn't make his decision based on Anders's opinion, which was far from impartial. Hawke glanced at Fenris, hoping for guidance.

Sensing that Hawke was uncertain, Fenris stepped closer to him and whispered, "Whatever you decide to do, Hawke, I will stand at your side."

Hawke nodded, emboldened by Fenris's loyalty. "I'm sorry, Arvaraad. I believe this mage should be free to choose for himself."

"Oh, great," Varric was heard to mutter, and the clank of Bianca as it was hefted from his back echoed around the cove.

Arvaraad turned to face his men and uttered a guttural command, and then spun round, pointing his rod at Sarebaas, and a field of arcane energy surrounded the Qunari mage.

"You're using _magic_?" blustered Anders. "You're nothing but hypocrites, just like the bloody Templars!"

"Bas Sarebaas4!" yelled Arvaraad, his eyes flitting between Anders and Hawke as he readied his sword. "You spew your words at me like a demon trying to poison my control. Like this mage, the Qun requires your death!"

"Not while I draw breath!" Fenris vociferated, and, before Arvaraad could react, the elf's fist had penetrated his breastplate. A sickening crunch was heard as it surpassed bone, followed by a wet sucking sound as a heart was squeezed, and the Qunari slumped, dead, onto the sand. Crying out in rage and pain, Fenris's markings blazed intensely, and he advanced on the Qunari group, supported by Hawke and the others. Sarebaas, seemingly immobilised, could do nothing to help them.

Following a hard and protracted fight, during which Fenris valiantly defended his more vulnerable companions, the elf sank to his knees, exhausted and in severe pain. Hawke rushed over to him as the other three attempted, in vain, to communicate with Sarebaas.

"Fenris," Hawke said soothingly, kneeling down at his side. "Just take deep breaths. You'll be all right. You're not injured, are you? Please, you must tell me if you are."

Fenris shook his head and swallowed hard between gasps.

"Just take it easy," Hawke gently advised, stroking Fenris's back. "Take as much time as you need."

Hawke looked up as a shadow fell across them, to find Anders standing a few feet away. "Is he all right, Hawke?" he asked, taking a few tentative steps closer.

"He'll be fine in a minute," Hawke replied. "It's his markings."

Anders nodded, crouched down, and watched Fenris for a moment. "Fenris…I just wanted to thank you for what you did, there. I must say, I wouldn't have expected…" he exhaled and stood up. "Well, that was all I wanted to say. If it means anything."

"Thanks, Anders," Hawke answered. "It does." Anders gave a single nod and walked away from them. "What did I tell you, Fenris?" Hawke asked the elf. "You're amazing."

Fenris closed his eyes and shook his head, and then leaned on Hawke, who helped him to his feet. Slowly, they went over to the others, who all thanked Fenris for his bravery. Their attention then turned to Sarebaas, who was still immobilised by Arvaraad's magic. Hawke walked over to where Arvaraad's rod lay on the sand, and called Anders and Bethany over.

"Any ideas on how to use this?" he asked them, and both of them shook their heads. "I wonder if it's safe for me to touch?" he wondered. "Only one way to find out." Taking a deep breath, he reached for the rod, and, as he touched it, a bolt of sharp pain shot up his arm, and he instinctively dropped it.

The clanking of chains could be heard as Sarebaas, now freed, rose to his full height. "Hawke," warned Fenris, and he positioned himself in front of the creature.

Sarebaas walked over to Hawke, with Fenris at his side, and bowed. "You are now Basvaraad5, worthy of following," the creature said to Hawke. "I thank your intent, even if it was wrong." Sarebaas began to walk away from the group, and Hawke followed. "I know the will of Arvaraad. I must return as demanded. It is the wisdom of the Qun."

"Return where?" Hawke asked, not understanding.

"To the Qun," Fenris clarified, walking alongside Hawke. "He intends to end his life."

"But why?" Hawke implored. "You're free, now. You don't have to do this. Please…we went to a lot of trouble to bring you here. You have a _choice_."

"I have made my choice. It is the only choice. Asit tal-eb1," he said with a small bow to Fenris, who returned the gesture.

"What about Petrice?" Hawke asked, grasping at straws. "Perhaps she could take you back? Get you some help, I don't know…find others of your kind?" He briefly glanced at Fenris, who shook his head.

"The sister was not honest, as the elf suspected," Sarebaas told Hawke. "Her kind has no honour. Her kind does not know the Qun."

"Fenris," Hawke appealed, though he knew deep down he was not going to sway Sarebaas.

"He has made his choice, Hawke," answered Fenris with finality.

Hawke exhaled and his posture drooped. Fenris placed a hand on his arm.

"Take this secret thing, Basvaraad," Sarebaas said to Hawke, holding out a huge hand. Hawke extended his own and Sarebaas pressed something into Hawke's palm. "Remember this day."

Sarebaas then turned and walked towards the shore. Hawke went to follow him but was stopped as Fenris's hand gripped his arm tightly.

When Sarebaas was at a safe distance, Hawke watched in horror as the creature immolated himself and dropped to his knees; stoic and dignified to the end, no cries of pain or anguish came from him as flames licked up his body. A gasp was heard from behind as Bethany's hands covered her face, and Anders cried out, "No!"

"It-it was all for nothing," Hawke whispered, watching, stupefied, as Sarebaas was consumed.

"Not entirely," Fenris replied softly. "In the end, thanks to you, he chose his own fate."

"Did he?" Hawke asked, unblinkingly looking ahead. "Did he really?"

Fenris took Hawke by the arm and led him away from the shore, where they met the others.

"Let us depart," advised Fenris.

"Yes, _let's_," Anders agreed hotly. "That Chantry bitch has some explaining to do."

"And I'm kinda hungry," Varric piped up. "Anyone else hungry?"

"Not really, Varric," Bethany answered, shaking her head. "Not after that."

Varric groaned softly, and steered Bethany toward the cave through which they'd come. Anders walked alone, occupied with his thoughts. Fenris and Hawke followed closely behind, and Fenris laid a hand on the shoulder of the subdued Hawke as he opened his palm to find a simple amulet on a leather cord.

~o~

1 Asit tal-eb: 'It is the way things are'.

2 Basra Vashedan: 'Foreign (non-Qunari; literal: thing) trash'.

3 Arvaaradkost. Maraas shokra: 'Peace, Arvaarad. There is nothing to struggle against'.

4 Bas Saarebas: 'Foreign dangerous thing (mage).

5 Basvaarad: 'Foreign leash-holder'.


	34. Chapter 34

"Ensure the trap door is secured, Varnell. We do not want anyone to follow them."

"It's done," replied the templar.

Petrice took one final glance around the main room of the small house and nodded. "I think that's everything, then. Let us leave without further delay."

Varnell walked over to the door and opened it, and then took a step back, holding his hands up in front of him.

"Varnell? What is…"

"Going somewhere?" A large sword appeared in the doorway, followed by the white-haired elf, who backed Varnell up against a wall as the rest of his group entered.

"Ser Elf…" Petrice began.

"Surprised to see us, are you?" Anders cut in, his face red with indignation.

"What do you mean?" Petrice asked, her voice and face betraying no emotion. Varnell's expression, however, told a different story entirely.

His sword pressing against Varnell's windpipe, Fenris's cold gaze fell on Petrice. "The corpses of your…_Ketojan's _karataam led directly to us. But you already know that, do you not?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're…" Petrice's words were cut short as Fenris's sword bit into Varnell's throat, drawing blood.

"Urk! P-Petrice…!"

"All right," she said calmly, seemingly unconcerned for Varnell. "I will explain. Just lower your weapon; there is no need for such...uncivilised behaviour."

"No deal," Fenris spat as blood trickled down Varnell's neck, much to Anders's satisfaction. "Start talking. Quickly."

Petrice took a deep breath and slowly paced the room. "I must confess, I did not expect you to return. The fact that you did, unscathed, is a testament to your skills…"

"Insincere praise won't get you out of this, lady," Bethany interrupted, before Varric touched her arm and shook his head, not wanting to get too involved. She sighed and ventured a concerned glance at Hawke, who so far had not spoken.

"The mage is dead," Anders added. "Do you even care about that?"

"That_ is_ regrettable," replied Petrice, shaking her head. "Especially now that, when the vanquished Qunari are found, there will more sympathy for them."

"You planned all of this to turn people against the Qunari, didn't you?" Fenris asked sourly. "You intended for us, and the mage, to die."

"You heartless bitch!" Anders exclaimed.

Varric grabbed Anders's arm and pulled him back a little, taking a step forward. "I think we should be fairly compensated for our trouble, don't you, sister?"

Petrice exhaled and waved her hand at Varnell. "Pay them."

Varnell, his eyes locked with Fenris's, slowly reached into his pocket and produced a small purse, which Fenris snatched from him and threw it over to Varric. The dwarf examined the contents and showed it to Hawke.

"_Oh_, no," Hawke muttered darkly from the rear of the group. "You're going to have to do a _lot _better than that."

"But we-we have no other funds," Petrice claimed unconvincingly.

Fenris moved his sword away from Varnell and pointed it at Petrice, but did not touch her with it. "Do as he says," he commanded.

"You would not harm an unarmed sister of the Chantry," she said confidently.

"_I _would," Anders threatened, readying his staff, as did Hawke.

"Now, come on, fellas; there's no need for this," Varric said. "Let's just take our money and go."

Fenris felt a faint thrum along his markings as arcane energy radiated off the two mages, and then, another sensation, which he was unfamiliar with, also crept along his skin; similar to magic, but not quite the same. Whatever it was, it was powered by lyrium, there was no doubt about that.

Before anyone could blink, Fenris's hand was at Varnell's throat, and the templar was lifted a few inches off the floor. "Sneaky," Fenris said malevolently to Varnell, who could only gurgle in reply as his legs thrashed and his hands grabbed desperately at Fenris's.

Petrice, finally realising that they meant business, hastened over to a small lock box that had been placed on top of a pile of belongings. She quickly unlocked it and handed it to Varric, who, upon opening it, let loose a long whistle.

"You have what you want; now, unhand him!" Petrice ordered.

Fenris tossed Varnell to the floor like a rag doll and finally retracted his sword. "You had better pray to your Maker that we do not meet again," he told her menacingly. "Now, get out."

Petrice helped the gasping Varnell to his feet, and they quickly gathered their belongings, making a hasty exit.

Varric closed the door behind them and shook his head in admiration. "Elf, I think _I'll _be praying to the Maker that I never get on your bad side! You scared the crap outta me!"

"You were great, Fenris," Anders added quietly. "It's nice that someone else stood up for Saarebas."

"I did not do it for the mage," said Fenris. "The templar was about to attack you and Hawke."

"I know; I could feel Justice stirring," Anders replied. "I'm glad that you reacted so quickly," he said to the elf. "If Justice _had_ attacked in such a confined space…well, things might have become…unpleasant."

Several pairs of eyes flitted around uncertainly, and a few uncomfortable looks were exchanged. The only person who did not look surprised was Fenris.

Varric noisily cleared his throat and held up the lock box. "Well, Hawke, it looks like we'll be paying Bartrand a visit tomorrow," he declared enthusiastically. "There are fifteen sovereigns in here, and, with the six in the purse, let's see…two each, ten for the kitty and one left over. What say we go back to my room and celebrate?"

"You three go," Hawke replied. "Fenris has missed out on two doses of his medicine. If we're heading to the Deep Roads soon, we've got to have our hero at his best," he added with a wan smile at Fenris, who rolled his eyes.

"Ooh, rather you than me, Fenris," chirped Anders, who knew exactly what went into such medicine. "We'll have a drink for you both; won't we, Varric?"

"Just the one, Blondie? You underestimate me."

They stepped outside, and Varric pocketed the key that had been left in the door. "Well, I think it's safe to say that this place has been abandoned. Maybe I'll find a use for it."

"Have fun, you three," said Hawke. "Beth, let Mother know you're safe."

"I will," she promised, and gave her brother a peck on the cheek. "Are you all right?" she whispered.

He forced a smile and nodded, and the five of them said their goodnights.

Fenris and Hawke took a slow walk back to Hightown, during which both men were quiet. Fenris knew that Hawke had been affected by Saarebas's death, but decided to give him the space to speak in his own time, if he wanted.

When they reached the top of the steps, Fenris broke the silence by remarking that Hawke was now able to travel up them without needing to stop. Hawke allowed himself a small smile, and rifled through one of the pockets in his robe, producing the amulet that Saarebas had gifted him with. Fenris stepped closer as Hawke thumbed the irregularly-shaped pendant.

"I wonder what this is?" Hawke pondered.

"May I see that?" asked Fenris.

"Of course." Hawke passed it to him, and Fenris examined it carefully, running his fingers along the rough surface.

"I would surmise that this is a piece of the creature's horn," Fenris guessed.

"Really?" Hawke reached over to touch the pendant, his fingers brushing against Fenris's. Both men paused, looked at each other and smiled. "Any idea why his horns were removed?"

"The reason for the practise is not commonly known," said Fenris. "I would estimate that the removal of their horns is a way of emasculating them, as they are considered dangerous…'faulty tools', as they are known."

Fenris released the amulet to Hawke, who nodded thoughtfully and placed it in his pocket. "You seem to know an awful lot about Qunari culture, Fenris. You knew that Petrice was up to no good, didn't you? That she was setting us up? I should have listened to you."

"I did not know of her plans, only that her motives were questionable," Fenris answered.

"How?"

"When I queried the location of the creature's karataam and Arvaraad, I expected to be asked for clarification of those terms, but she knew exactly what they meant," replied Fenris. "And yet, although the creature could not speak, she declared that he desired his freedom. How would she know such a thing? Her knowledge of the Qun rivalled my own, but I knew that the creature's hours were numbered: he was destined to die, either by his karataam or by his own hand. She would also have known that. That was her mistake."

"So, she would have known that Saarebas would die at the end of it, one way or another?"

"Precisely," answered Fenris. "But she claimed that he had a chance of freedom among the Tal'Vashoth. Even _they _would not have accepted an unleashed saarebas, and would have put him to death. She hoped to play on our ignorance of their ways, but was unaware of my knowledge of the Qun."

Hawke stopped walking and Fenris also halted. "Why didn't you stand up to me?" Hawke asked without accusation. "You knew what was going to happen. You knew I was wrong."

Fenris sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "I wanted him to make his own choice. While he was under Petrice's care, that was not possible. Perhaps a small part of me also wanted him to claim his freedom, though I knew that was unlikely to happen. He was strong at the end, and his convictions and belief in the Qun gave him courage. Do not doubt, Hawke, that he made the right decision: the right decision for _him_."

Hawke and Fenris resumed their walk. "You sound like you admire the Qunari, Fenris," said Hawke.

"I do. They are staunch and single-minded, and conduct themselves honourably. It is easy for me to see why many non-Kossith convert to the Qun: they are known as Viddathari. I also see, though, how their ways are baffling to those who have no experience of them."

Hawke shook his head and sighed. "I just can't fathom why, once he'd gained his freedom, he opted to end his life; but, then, I'm not really a religious person. Perhaps I underestimate the strength faith can give someone."

Fenris nodded and glanced up at the chantry as they passed it. "Faith is a powerful notion, but it can be abused. It can change someone's entire outlook on life; take Sebastian, for example. He told me, quite freely, that he was once a philanderer, a man of poor morals."

"What, Sebastian?" Hawke exclaimed.

"Yes, but his faith in the Chant has made him a stronger man, better able to channel his baser urges into doing good. He is a fine example of a person of faith. Then, there are those like Petrice, who take their faith and its teachings and contort them to fit their own purposes. She is _not _a moral person, yet would claim to be while using the Chant to obnubilate herself."

Hawke glanced at Fenris admiringly. "I've never really thought about it in that way. You know, Fenris, I really enjoy our conversations. Even if you do use big words, sometimes. Ob…Obnuli…?"

Fenris, relieved that Hawke's spirits had lifted a little, smiled. "To conceal oneself. I will do my best to keep the big words to a minimum, Hawke."

"Liar," Hawke accused with a laugh, and then stretched his arms and yawned.

"Let us make haste," Fenris said through a yawn of his own, and they headed for Hightown Estates. "You will need your rest, Hawke, if you are to meet Varric later this morning."

"I need to prepare your medicine, first," Hawke said with an impish smile. "Bet you thought I'd forgotten about that, didn't you?"

"Not at all," Fenris replied, firmly supressing his own smile, before a frown darkened his features. "Must I take two doses?"

"Three," Hawke deadpanned as they reached the mansion. "Your third dose will be due in a few hours, so you may as well get it out of the way."

"The Wise Woman with her leeches is sounding more appealing by the minute," Fenris grumbled as he unlocked the door.

A quiet snigger escaped Hawke's mouth and he clapped a hand over it. Fenris's eyebrow, apparently recovered from its recent exertions, flew upwards. "Is this…mage humour?" the elf asked.

"I see the eyebrow's back with us," Hawke chortled, closing the door. He then reached for Fenris's face and pushed his other eyebrow up to match the other. "You should exercise them both at the same time, you know."

Hawke's belly flipped over as Fenris grinned, and he felt the eyebrows relax. He ran one finger down Fenris's cheek and stopped at his mouth. "You know, Fenris, I'd really like to kiss you right about now."

Fenris tilted his head slightly. "So, what's stopping you?"

Hawke clamped his lips together and his body rocked as he held in a goofy laugh. "You-you make me come over all shy, do you know that? Nobody has ever had this effect on me before." He felt his cheeks burning, and the sensation intensified as Fenris took the initiative and stood on tiptoes, softly pressing his lips against Hawke's. He then stood back and scratched his chin, the soft firelight illuminating his face.

"Fenris…what's that on your face?" Hawke asked, gently turning Fenris's face toward the fire. "You have a rash."

"My face has been itching all day," Fenris replied with a shrug. "Perhaps the sea air irritated my skin? I am not concerned."

Frowning, Hawke ran a finger along the affected parts of Fenris's skin, which were mainly around his mouth. "I'll make up some balm for you when I go back home. I wonder if…?"

"You wonder what?"

"Oh, nothing, it doesn't matter," Hawke replied, idly stroking his beard, though his frown remained in place. "Well, I'll go and make up your medicine. And some tea?"

"Thank you. I will check around the mansion."

"You want me to come with you?"

Fenris shook his head. "That will not be necessary. I would prefer to have the tea made quickly."

"You're just dying for your medicine; admit it!"

"It would seem you are onto me," Fenris remarked with a soft laugh, and Hawke headed for the kitchen.

"Medicine coming up. _One _dose."

"You are too kind," said Fenris with a small bow. He then hefted his sword from his back and proceeded to conduct his sweep of the mansion.

When he returned, he went to his bedroom and removed his breastplate and gauntlets. He then went downstairs, where Hawke had made up a bed on the settee, refreshed the fire and lit a few candles, which sat on the mantelpiece next to three steaming mugs. Fenris wondered for a moment where Hawke was, and then guessed that he'd gone to fetch some food; it had several hours since they'd last eaten. Deciding to get his medicine out of the way, he reached for the mug, blew on it several times and then drank it with a grimace. Taking the other two mugs, he walked over to the settee and placed them on the small table. He then sat on the settee, covered himself with the blankets and brought his legs up, bending them so that Hawke had ample space in which to sit.

A short time later, Hawke entered, carrying, naturally, a tray full of food. "Everything all right, Fenris?" he asked, and the elf nodded. Reaching the settee, he passed the tray to Fenris while he also got under the blankets. The tray was then placed in between them, and they helped themselves to the cold chicken, bread and pickles that Hawke had piled onto a plate.

"It's good to see you're buying decent food," Hawke remarked. "You've come a long way from biscuits and porridge, haven't you?"

"Indeed I have, Hawke. It would appear that you also are eating well; unless I am mistaken, you have lost some weight."

"Oh, you noticed?" Hawke flashed a dazzling smile, which he quickly subdued. "Not that I've been…trying, or anything," he claimed.

"Of course not," Fenris replied quietly, a mischievous gleam in his eyes that sent a shiver through Hawke.

Hawke cleared his throat and reached for his tea. "Would you like to come with me in the morning?"

Fenris shook his head. "I should attempt to get as much sleep as possible; I will be on duty tonight with Donnic."

"Oh yes, I'd forgotten about that! Your first shift as a proper guard," said Hawke proudly. "Will you be wearing your new armour?"

"It will not be ready for a few days," Fenris answered, smiling. "You will be among the first to see it, I assure you."

"How are you going to get on wearing heavy plate?" asked Hawke.

"I will not be wearing heavy plate. The armourer at the Keep is fashioning a special light tunic and greaves for me, and will be adapting the cuirass of the Guard to better suit an elf. Also, I will not be required to wear boots, but will wear my slippers, instead. I am quite looking forward to seeing what he comes up with."

"So am I. I'm sure you'll look very handsome." Hawke sighed and placed the tray on the floor, moving closer to Fenris, who laid his legs over Hawke's lap. "I'll miss this, you know."

"As will I, Hawke." Fenris also scooted a little closer, and Hawke snaked an arm around Fenris's shoulder.

"If the offer's still on, I think I will have this settee," said Hawke.

"Take what you wish; you should make your family home more comfortable for your mother and sister."

"The way Varric's talking, I'll have enough money to buy back the family estate once we leave the Deep Roads," laughed Hawke. "But, just in case I don't, I'll take you up on that offer. You're very generous."

"I am not generous. None of this belongs to me."

"I think you'd give it to me even if it did," Hawke said softly, once again running a finger down Fenris's face.

"I…like it when you do that," Fenris said in almost a whisper.

"Do you?" Hawke's belly tightened, and he took a deep breath, moving his hand to stroke Fenris's hair. "How about this?"

The elf nodded and raised his own hand, resting it against Hawke's cheek, and inclined his head. Hawke gulped and his heart hammered in his chest as he leaned in, feeling Fenris's warmth as their lips touched. As they found a slow rhythm, Hawke was very conscious of not moving his hands below Fenris's neck, at least not until Fenris indicated that he was comfortable with Hawke doing so. After a few moments, Fenris slowly pulled away and placed a hand over his mouth.

"Forgive me, Hawke…my breath must smell atrocious after the medicine."

"I happen to like garlic," Hawke grinned, and yawned before placing a soft kiss on Fenris's chin and laying his head on his shoulder.

"Liar," Fenris quipped, and Hawke chuckled softly. "You should get some sleep," Fenris advised, breathing into Hawke's hair.

"I'm way ahead of you," mumbled Hawke. "Night night."

"Goodnight, Hawke." They both shifted and settled against each other, finding warm nooks to tuck their hands and arms into, and each fell asleep wearing a gentle smile.

~o~O~o~

That night, Hawke discovered that Fenris fidgeted in his sleep. A lot. Once the sun had risen, Hawke took advantage of one of the elf's restless spells to get up. Fenris mumbled something and reached out a hand, but Hawke tucked it back under the covers and whispered to him to go back to sleep. He arranged the blankets around Fenris, and, catching a glimpse of his face, noted with consternation that that the elf's rash had worsened.

"Shit," he muttered, once again stroking his beard. After going to the kitchen and preparing Fenris's medicine, he ate a light breakfast of tea and toast, and left a snack with a glass of milk for Fenris. He then departed for home, where he bathed, changed and gathered together the money he'd saved for the expedition, before setting off for the Hanged Man.

When he entered the pub, Varric, who was leaning against the bar chatting with Corff, did a double-take when he saw Hawke. Hawke cleared his throat and strode nonchalantly over, also leaning against the bar, and ordered a pot of tea.

"Hawke," Varric greeted with a slight inflection in his voice.

"Varric." Hawke nodded once and casually looked around the lounge, which was empty.

"There's something different about you, today, young Hawke, and I can't quite put my finger on it," said Varric, pointedly staring at Hawke's face.

"Different?"

"New robes?" Varric guessed, and Hawke shook his head. "New staff? No?" Hawke folded his arms and once again let his eyes wander around the room.

A teapot and mug were plonked down on the bar beside Hawke, and Corff joined in with the staring. "You gone and shaved your beard off then, Hawke?" asked the barman, and Varric snapped his fingers.

"Of course!" exclaimed the dwarf. "What happened, Hawke? Lose a bet, or something?"

"No," Hawke replied, squirming a little. "I just fancied a change, that's all."

"Has the elf seen it, yet?"

"No."

Varric burst into laughter and slapped his knee. "Beard burn, huh?"

"What?"

"Happens all the time in Orzammar, or so I'm told. Never had that problem myself," he said, stroking his smooth chin. "Well, Hawke, if you have everything, let's go and find that nug-humping brother of mine. He'll probably be hanging around Hightown; he thinks it'll make him classy by association."

"Will I need to stand clear when you give Bartrand the good news?" asked Hawke as they left the pub, having had a quick cup of tea. "When you see the look on his face?"

"Might be a good idea, Hawke," Varric advised, chuckling at Hawke's disgusted expression. "A word to the wise, Hawke; my brother…well, he's a bit of an asshole."

"I know; I've met him, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. Well, just don't take anything he says too seriously, that's all. He doesn't have our charm or tact. Poor bastard can't help being such an insufferable oaf."

"I'm sure I've met more obnoxious people in my time, Varric."

"Wanna bet on that, Hawke?" asked Varric hopefully, spitting on his palm and offering it to Hawke.

"Er…no," Hawke replied, looking disparagingly at Varric's hand. "Something tells me this is a bet I'd lose."

They eventually found Bartrand berating a merchant in Hightown for short-changing him. They stood and waited patiently for the haranguing to stop, and, when after several minutes it didn't, Varric cleared his throat and stepped closer.

"Oh, Bartrand?"

"What?" snapped Bartrand, who wheeled around to face them. "Oh, it's you," he grumped.

"Have you missed me, Brother?" Varric teased. "Family reunions are always so touching, aren't they?"

"Whadd'ya want?" demanded Bartrand, and the merchant closed his eyes, his shoulders slumping in relief that Bartrand's ire had been directed elsewhere.

Varric grabbed Hawke's arm and pushed him forward a little. "Brother, I'd like you to meet our partner in the expedition."

Bartrand gawked at Hawke for a moment, and then moved directly in front of him, looking him up and down. "This streak of piss? Take a hike, Varric. I'm not in the mood for your practical jokes."

"Hawke?" prompted Varric.

Hawke removed a large purse from beneath his robes and handed it to Bartrand. "Fifty sovereigns. Count it, if you like."

Bartrand grabbed the purse and did indeed count the contents.

"He has maps of the Deep Roads as well, Bartrand," Varric added.

"Here you go," said Hawke, passing him the maps that Anders had given him.

"Well…I'll be a nug's hairy-backed, fat-assed uncle!" proclaimed Bartrand loudly, and Hawke scratched his head while Varric groaned. "I told you this kid had potential, didn't I, Varric?"

"Whatever," muttered Varric.

"So, what are you going to do with this money?" asked Hawke. "When do we set off?"

"Woah! What's with all the questions? Kid's making my head spin!" Bartrand said to Varric.

"I _am _an_ investor_," Hawke said sternly, "and I think I have a right to ask questions. Now, what's this money going to be used for?"

"Sheesh! Touchy little sod, aren't you? All right, all right…put together with mine and Varric's money, this'll pay for workers, food, safety equipment, you know, boring stuff like that, plus a few entertainments."

"Entertainments? Such as?" Hawke demanded.

"Well, we'll be taking a bunch of men into the deeps, so we'll need a little something to keep them from going crazy, what with being trapped under miles of sodding rock. I'll hire a couple of girls to share among the men; leave it to me."

"_Girls_?" exclaimed Hawke in dismay. "Oh, no. _Oh_, no."

"What?" spluttered Bartrand. "What's your problem?"

"We are _not_ procuring girls to keep the men entertained," Hawke insisted.

"What is he, some kind of faggot?" Bartrand shouted at Varric, who slapped a hand over his eyes.

"Bartrand…"

"My sexual orientation has no bearing on this conversation whatsoever," Hawke declared, nonplussed.

"You could have fooled me, Twinkle-Toes."

"We are _not _taking _any _women into the Deep Roads. A Grey Warden will be accompanying us, and he has provided compelling reasons for their exclusion."

"I couldn't give a rat's tits what some fairy-ass Grey Warden thinks!" Bartrand shot back. "Those girls are _coming_, and that's that! How else do you expect the men to let off steam?"

"They can use their hand, like everyone else," Hawke retorted. "As an investor, I have an equal say. If you don't like my ideas, you can find another investor, and I'll just take my money and spend it on prostitutes. _Male _ones," he said menacingly.

"I knew you were a sodding shirt-lifter the minute I set eyes on you!" Bartrand growled accusingly, moving away a step and keeping his back firmly facing the wall.

"I think you'd better take him seriously, Brother," advised Varric, sounding uncharacteristically irritated. "The only other choice we have is Dougal Gavorn, and, if you have _him_ as a partner, you can count _me _out."

Bartrand threw his arms up into the air and began to pace back and forth. "Of all the bronto-fucking sons of bitches…!" He continued cursing for several minutes, and Hawke and Varric again waited patiently, exchanging the occasional bored glance, until he was through. "All right, damnit!" Bartrand conceded at last. "Just you keep your limp little hands to yourself when we're down there, got it?"

Hawke moved closer to Bartrand, who scooted further back, pressing himself against the wall. "Bartrand," Hawke whispered seductively. "You're _quite _safe, trust me."

Bartrand squeezed his way around Hawke and stomped over to Varric. "All right, now I've got the money, you can take off, and take Fruitdrop here with you."

"You're not getting rid of us that easily," Hawke declared. "We'll be back every day to check on your progress. I want detailed and accurate reports on how my money is being spent. If I get so much as a whiff of impropriety, I'll withdraw. Nice doing business with you…_partner_."

"Partner, my hairy balls," Bartrand growled under his breath. "Fine. Now piss off and let me get on with my work."

"See you tomorrow, Brother," Varric promised in a sing-song voice, and he and Hawke walked away, feeling Bartrand's eyes burning holes in their backs. "Hawke, I gotta hand it to you: you dealt with him beautifully. I'm guessing he's not your biggest fan in the world right now, but you put him in his place. I'm proud of you, kid."

"Oh, stop," Hawke teased. "I'm filling up, here!"

"Well, if you're gonna get all weepy on me, I think I'll do the manly thing and disappear. I'm guessing you have an elf to show off your new look to, huh?"

Hawke's eyes widened and he reached for his face. "I'd forgotten about that. How do I look?"

"Weird," Varric answered. "But, I guess it'll grow on me. Or not, as the case may be."

"Thanks, Varric. I can always rely on you to boost my ego."

"That's what I'm here for." Varric held out his hand and Hawke shook it. "See you for lunch?"

"Maybe. If not, I'll see you tonight."

"Gotcha," Varric replied. "Hope the elf appreciates your new look."

"So do I, Varric."

With a nod to each other, the two friends turned and went their separate ways.


	35. Chapter 35

_I'd like to say hello and thank you to david9999 and amanda0293 for your amazing support and PMs :-) Also, thank you to everyone following the story, and special thanks to Shakespira, without whom this story just wouldn't be the same._

~o~O~o~

As Hawke's right hand rapped at the door, his left moved up to his face. He _knew _that Fenris would have to look at him sooner or later, but, at this moment, he felt like a teenager about to have his first kiss, and his cheeks blazed red just as they had done all those years ago.

A shadow skittered along the edges of his memory, then, but he quickly dismissed it. His first kiss, or, rather, what had come after it, was not something he cared to remember. He thought of Fenris, instead, and felt heat creep back into his face, clumsily clearing his throat as the door opened.

"Hawke-"

"Hello, Fenris." Hawke breezed past the elf, obscuring the left side of his face with his hand, hoping he'd made a good job of pretending to scratch it. He walked over to the settee, and then, not quite knowing what to do once he was there, fiddled with the vase on the small table to its left.

The door closed, and Hawke felt a pair of sagacious green eyes on him. The _eyebrow _was there, as well: Hawke couldn't see it, but could feel its presence as surely as he felt Fenris's.

"Catch up on your sleep all right, Fenris?" he enquired, his feigned nonchalance destroyed by the cracked, high-pitched timbre of his voice. He cleared his throat again and inwardly cursed.

"Mmm," Fenris intoned languorously, and Hawke felt a snigger rise from his toes, catching it just before it rushed out of his mouth. Hawke cleared his throat for a third time and walked over to a window, keeping his back to the elf.

"And what have _you_ been up to?" asked Fenris. There was a smile in his voice, and Hawke knew Fenris was on to him, but played along, nevertheless.

"Oh, this and that." There was more than a smile in Hawke's voice; there was laughter, barely contained and threatening to burst out of him. "Went to see Bartrand. Interesting character, y'know. Nothing like Varric at all."

"Mmm."

Hawke bit his bottom lip and squeezed his eyes closed, a treacherous snort escaping through his nose. Fenris's shadow, cast across the floor, slowly darkened and shortened in length, and, although Hawke couldn't hear his approach, he knew he was coming up behind him. Hawke quickly left the window and walked to the next one, realising that soon, Fenris would have him cornered.

"And what else have you been up to, Hawke? I…see you've changed your robe," Fenris observed casually, his shadow once again darkening by an infinitesimal amount. "You have also washed your hair."

"Well, aren't _you_ the observant one?" Hawke twittered, pretending to brush dust off the drapes. "Good for you!" He caught sight of a pale reflection of Fenris in the window, and could see that the elf's head was cocked, and his stance that of a cat stalking its prey.

"Turn around, Hawke."

"Hm?"

"_You_ heard me," said Fenris, his tone warm.

"I don't think I'll bother," sniffed Hawke. "I'm rather enjoying looking out of the window."

"At a _wall_?"

"Yes, it's rather interesting, as walls go. You don't see craftsmanship like that, anymore; it's a bloody shame, I tell you."

"What are you hiding, Hawke?" They both knew the answer to that, but they were also enjoying the game far too much to stop.

"Eh? What would I _possibly_ be hiding?"

"I…could…_make_ you turn around," Fenris uttered, an intimated threat carried on a honeyed whisper, and adrenaline flooded into Hawke's belly. Remembering how easily Fenris had manhandled a fully-armoured templar, he didn't doubt that his assertion was true.

Although Hawke's lip was starting to swell from all the biting, he didn't want this feeling of exhilaration to end, and decided to see how far he could push Fenris, finding the thought of being _manhandled _by him powerfully arousing. The adrenaline cascaded through his body, searing his belly, causing his head to swim and his heart to thud an erratic tattoo.

"Go on, then," he challenged in a husky whisper.

"Are you certain, Hawke?" asked Fenris, his voice a tide of velvet lapping over jagged, perilous rocks.

"Quite certain."

Hawke's breath was forced out of his lungs as slender hands tightly grabbed his arms, twisting them behind his back; not quite hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to render any attempts at resistance useless. The fact Hawke offered _no _resistance whatsoever helped matters considerably.

"Are you still certain, Hawke?" Fenris's voice, still behind him, was quieter, but nearer.

"Maker," Hawke breathed raggedly, his laughter finally liberated in a nervous burst.

He was spun around and softly pushed against a wall, his arms still held behind his back. Fenris's eyes rose to meet Hawke's and a smile, half wicked and half playful, but wholly sublime, illuminated the elf's face.

"You appear to have acquired a chin since the last time I saw you, Hawke."

Hawke, out of breath and dazed, could only nod in reply.

Fenris's head tilted slightly, and his eyes roamed over Hawke's fuzz-free face. Hawke felt the elf's grip on him loosen a little. "Why have you removed your beard?" asked Fenris.

"Well, um…" Hawke hung his head, a furious blush scalding his cheeks. "Your-your rash. That's-I think that's what caused it."

The smile melted away from Fenris's face, and he tilted his head the opposite way. He released Hawke's arms but rested his hands on them. "You…removed your beard…for me? For my sake?"

"I wasn't that attached to it, anyway," shrugged Hawke. "The only reason I grew one in the first place was because I can't be bothered to shave every day. _Not_ shaving gives me an extra two minutes in bed. But I think you're worth the sacrifice," he teased.

Fenris eyed Hawke uncertainly, trying to determine whether he really was joking. "Are you sure? You…will not miss it?"

Hawke, propelled by nothing but the adrenaline in his veins, stepped closer to Fenris, their chests barely touching, and nodded. "We can't have Guardsman Fen-Fen reporting for duty with a kissing rash on his face," he uttered softly.

Fenris's finally released Hawke's arms and folded his own. "I thought we had discussed this, Hawke," he said, smiling puckishly. "You were not to call me that again, and yet you persist in your folly."

"I never agreed to that. _You _decided that, Fenris, and, in doing so, completely removed me from the decision-making process. I was quite upset by that," Hawke proclaimed, affecting a hurt expression.

"Really."

"Yes, really." Hawke leaned a little closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. "What are you going to do to me?"

"I will surprise you, when you least expect it."

"Promises, promises, Fenris."

This time, they sniggered together, and Fenris raised a hand to Hawke's face. "…May I?"

"You don't need to ask."

Fenris rested the back of his hand against Hawke's cheek and slowly stroked downwards. Hawke sighed and leaned into his touch, his eyes closing, adrenaline once again surging through him. He found Fenris's other hand, which rested at his side, and gently clasped it. "What-what do you think, then?"

"I think…I like it," murmured Fenris, believing Hawke had never looked so handsome. A sensation, unfamiliar, but sweet and wholesome and real, bubbled up inside him and warmed his chest and face. While Hawke's eyes were closed, he allowed - for a brief and perfect moment - his walls to recede, and his heart to open to possibilities that had never before presented themselves; that he'd believed were never meant for someone like him.

Hawke's eyes slowly opened, and, as Fenris's head dipped, he caught a tantalising glimpse of bright eyes, wide with the innocence of a man untouched by Danarius's foulness, before long, dark lashes lowered.

Hawke's hand moved to the slender one that rested against his cheek, and he brought both of Fenris's hands against his own chest, his larger hands covering them, and, not remembering how, his lips found the elf's. He felt Fenris's hands turn and grip his own, before slowly snaking up his arms and around his neck. Hawke's hands went to Fenris's waist, his touch gossamer-light, painfully conscious of not forcing his ardour upon Fenris, afraid of unearthing some long-buried memory. Longing, trepidation and joy warred within him, and, as Fenris pressed himself against Hawke, urging him deeper in, Hawke felt his control slipping, spiralling, careering...

A split-second image coruscated through his mind: bare skin, sweat, hands tangling through white hair, fingers sinking into flesh, licking, biting, sucking, scratching, moaning, pleading, panting-

Gasping, Hawke broke the kiss and clasped Fenris by the shoulders, holding him at arms' length.

"Hawke? What's the matter?"

Hawke blinked and swallowed hard. "Nothing…nothing's wrong, I-I…I don't want to…" He raised his hands to Fenris's face, caressing his cheeks, and placed a soft, almost chaste kiss on his lips, ensuring that their hips didn't touch: Hawke didn't want Fenris to know just how close he'd come to losing control.

"Hawke…you do not need to…I know what you are trying to do. There is no need. You are…you are not _him._" His last words came out as a whisper, and Hawke, first twisting his hips to the side, pulled Fenris against him, his nose resting against Fenris's forehead. They stood there, warmed by the sun that streamed through the window, for several minutes, listening to the other's breathing, hands gently resting against arms, thumbs slowly stroking.

"Hawke," Fenris said eventually, his words humming against Hawke's chin. "Do you remember when you boldly proclaimed that one day you would be the first mage I've ever trusted?"

"Yes, I remember that," Hawke whispered, lowering his head a little.

"Well, Hawke," Fenris raised his head and looked into Hawke's eyes. "You are. I trust you, Hawke."

A warm glow, and then a cold, hard slap across the face were elicited by the elf's words, and Hawke forced a smile. Fenris trusted him, and yet there was something he didn't know; something that Hawke hadn't had the courage to share with him. He pulled Fenris close again and stared over his shoulder as Fenris curled against his chest, breathing onto his neck.

"Fenris, I-" He pressed his mouth against the elf's temple, breathing in his smell, his warmth. Not so long ago, those things were out of his reach, held back, but were now freely given. Fenris had made a leap, taken a huge risk, and had decided to trust someone. Could Hawke take that away from him, destroy it, and, with it, the possibility that Fenris would ever trust again? Could Hawke do without his touch, his friendship, his trust?

But could Hawke continue lying to him? It _was_ a lie; for all that Hawke told himself that he was merely withholding information, and that wasn't the same as a lie, he knew that by believing that, he was also lying to himself.

"Fenris, I-I need to…" He sighed, his mind split into two opposing forces. On one side, the right thing to do, and, on the other…the right thing to do. The question became: the right thing for whom?

"Yes, Hawke?" Fenris looked up, his expression already accepting of whatever Hawke would say.

_I can't give you up. I can't._

"I…trust you, as well, Fenris. With all my heart."

_But one day I'm going to break your heart. Or you'll break mine, figuratively or literally. The difference is: I'll deserve it._

_But I can't give you up._

"That is good to hear, Hawke."

A shadow passed across one of the windows, and Hawke's breath was released in a gust. "Someone's here." Almost glad of the interruption, he released Fenris and headed straight for the door.

"Wait," Fenris said in warning, and walked over to one of the windows, pulling the drapes aside. Hawke waited behind the door and noticed a confused frown on Fenris's face. "…A child?"

"Shall I answer it?" asked Hawke. Fenris nodded but took up his sword and went over to the door, standing just behind it.

Hawke opened the door to a young lad, maybe thirteen or fourteen. He was poorly-dressed and his hair hung in lank strands. A bumfluff moustache graced his upper lip.

"Pardon me, ser, but are you Hawke?" the lad asked. Before Hawke could answer, he went on. "It's just that I've been sent with a message. I was told to try the Hanged Man and the slums, but that you might also be here. At least…I think I have the right address."

"Who sent you?" asked Hawke.

"Anders, ser. You _are _Hawke, aren't you? I've seen you at the clinic."

"Wait…I know you, don't I?" Hawke asked the boy. "You were on my ship. Yes, I remember now. Cricket, isn't it?"

"No, ser. Cricket's my brother. I'm Walter."

"Yes, of course!" Hawke snapped his fingers and shook hands with the young man. "Well, Walter, what's the message?"

"Well, Anders asked me to find you because he's heard another refugee ship's just docked. He said he was to let you know if he needed any help. Oh, and when I asked after you at the Hanged Man, Varric said he also wanted to talk to you, and that it was important."

"Oh, yes, of course," answered Hawke. "Well, tell Anders that I'll be along soon. I just have my own patient to see to, first. I'll talk to Varric on the way to the clinic." He reached into his pocket and produced a few coins, which he passed to Walter. "That's for your trouble."

"Oh, but ser, Anders has already p…" Walter stopped himself and glanced down at the money in his hand.

"I don't think I heard that, Walter," Hawke said with a wink.

Walter slipped the coins into his own pocket and grinned sheepishly at Hawke. "Thank you, ser! I-I'll tell him right away!" With that, he took off across the courtyard.

Hawke closed the door with a sigh, in time to see Fenris laying his sword against the wall. "Bugger," muttered Hawke. "And there was me hoping that we could spend the afternoon together; I won't see you tonight, will I?"

"You might; it all depends on how long you are needed at the clinic," answered Fenris.

"Oh, that's right; you'll be in Darktown, won't you? What time do you start?"

"I am to report to the barracks at six bells. Shortly after that, I would expect."

Hawke nodded. "Well, you get a break, don't you? Maybe we could have supper together at the clinic? Play cards with Donnic?"

"I look forward to that, Hawke, assuming it will even be possible."

"Oh, I'll make it possible," Hawke laughed, and then his face fell a little. "Would, erm…would it be all right if Anders joined in? It's just that, well, I think he's a bit lonely. I know that you two don't-"

"No objections, Hawke."

"Thank you, Fenris." Hawke walked over to him and placed his hands on the elf's shoulders. "As a reward for your generosity, I may have some good news for you."

"Oh?"

"Let me have a look at your foot. I think the dressing can finally come off. And that means…"

"No more medicine?" asked Fenris hopefully.

"No more medicine."

Fenris grinned lopsidedly and went over to the settee, sat down and elevated his right leg. Hawke took a seat further along, and, after removing the dressing, began to palpate Fenris's heel. "Any pain?"

"None, Hawke."

"Are you _certain_?" asked Hawke, his eyes narrowing. "You're not just saying that to get out of taking the medicine?" Hawke pressed his thumb hard into Fenris's heel, but the elf didn't flinch.

"I am of the Kirkwall Guard," declared Fenris. "My word and honour are beyond reproach."

"You're a guard, Fenris, not the grand cleric!" laughed Hawke. "Maker, this is going to your head already!"

"No, it is not," chuckled Fenris. "Aren't you supposed to be examining me?"

"I was, until you started getting delusions of grandeur," Hawke teased, and set Fenris's foot down. "Well, I think you're in the clear. There's one more batch of medicine left, and I'd like you to take that, just to be on the safe side, but we can make it your last one. Start looking after your feet," he added sternly. "Wear your slippers, and _tell _me if you feel unwell again."

"I will," the elf promised, reaching for one of Hawke's hands. "I cannot thank you enough for your care, but also for seeking alternatives to magic. You went to a lot of trouble, Hawke. I will never be able to repay you."

"I don't_ want _repaying, silly," smiled Hawke. "Actually, I'm _glad_ that your foot got infected. If it hadn't, you and I would probably still be bickering. That, or we'd have killed each other."

"I had not thought of it like that," answered Fenris with a smile of his own.

"Everything happens for a reason, Fenris." Hawke scooted a little closer to the elf, keeping hold of his hand. "You know, there is something you could do for me."

"Yes?"

"Well…you could call me Fletcher, instead of Hawke. Everyone calls me Hawke, which is fine, but you're…you're different from everyone else."

A soft smile graced Fenris's lips. "Not _everyone_ calls you 'Hawke'. Your mother and sister use your given name."

"Which is?" prompted Hawke.

"Fletcher," chuckled Fenris. "But…your mother and sister are your family. They _should_ use your given name…Fletcher, I mean," he added.

"Not just my family, Fenris, but people who…well, people who…mean something to me. _They_ get to call me Fletcher."

Neither man spoke for a short time, and their eyes wandered over to the window. Briefly, Hawke worried that he'd come on too strong, but his fears were allayed when Fenris squeezed his hand.

"You honour me, Hawke."

"Sorry…didn't quite catch that," said Hawke, cupping his ear.

"You honour me…Fletcher." They smiled at each other, and Hawke leaned closer, placing a soft kiss against Fenris's cheek.

"I suppose I'd better get to the clinic, before I forget," Hawke said, releasing Fenris's hand. He patted the elf's thigh and stood up. "Oh…" Hawke scratched the side of his neck and grimaced.

"Oh?" Fenris repeated.

"Well…you know how you said I could have the settee, and maybe a few other things, for the house?"

"Yes?"

"I, um, sort of mentioned that to Varric in passing. Erm…he wanted to know when you're moving to the barracks."

"Ah, yes; he plans to place traps around the mansion, does he not?" asked Fenris.

"Yes, that…and he also sort of has a team of men standing by…to clear the mansion out."

Fenris shook his head. "Hm. This is…awkward. As a member of the Guard…"

"I mentioned that, and how it might make you feel ."

"And what was his response?"

Hawke laughed nervously. "Well, he said that you're the one squatting in a mansion that doesn't belong to you. Varric's words, not mine."

"Squatting _is _legal in the Free Marches…_technically_," Fenris added with a rueful smile.

"Believe me, Fenris, Varric will come up with _some _reason why it's also _technically_ legal for him and his friends to swipe anything that isn't nailed down. Besides…you're not officially a guard until six bells."

Fenris sighed and pushed himself to his feet. "Quarters have already been assigned to me at the barracks. I suppose I could stay there from now on." He glanced around the main reception hall and then looked at Hawke. "This place, and its contents, means nothing to me. What happens after I have vacated the premises has nothing to do with me." He took a few steps closer to Hawke. "The only thing I will miss is your company, H…Fletcher. I enjoyed the evenings we spent together."

Hawke tapped his temple and grinned devilishly. "Don't worry about that; I have plans."

"Plans? Do I even want to know?"

"Probably not." He wrapped his arms around Fenris and pulled him close. "Hope your first shift goes well, guardsman. I can't wait to see you later."

"Neither can I."

Hawke leaned down and their lips met in a brief but firm kiss. Not wanting to get carried away again, Hawke pulled away, and brought his hands up to Fenris's face, resting them against his cheeks. "I suppose I'd better go, if Varric wants me as well. He probably wants to talk about…what will happen once you vacate."

"Not listening, Hawke," Fenris said mischievously.

Hawke released Fenris and scampered over to the door. "I knew we'd make a bent guard out of you," he joked.

"Only until six bells, Hawke…Fletcher. This will take some getting used to."

"Well, you can practice, during quiet spells on your shift," said Hawke. "Just walk around, muttering 'Fletcher' under your breath. Shouldn't get you _too _much attention – not in Darktown, anyway."

Fenris folded his arms. "Don't you have to see Varric?"

"Ah, good morning, eyebrow!" Hawke laughed, and Fenris immediately relaxed his expression. Hawke walked back over to him and pushed Fenris's brows up with his thumbs. "What did I tell you about exercising them together? The other one will get fat, if you're not careful."

"Dolt!" Fenris dissolved into quiet laughter, his shoulders trembling.

"Aw, Fen…I do love to see you laugh," Hawke said softly. "I wish I didn't have to go to the bloody clinic. I should have kept my big gob shut."

"You will enjoy it," Fenris stated. "You are a healer; it is what you do best, and I have seen first-hand that it is what you were born to do."

"Well, that means a lot to me, Fen. I'm glad you understand. Do you…mind if I call you Fen?" he asked cheekily. "I _have _invited you to call me Fletcher."

Fenris rolled his eyes and sighed softly, one edge of his mouth twitching. "If you must. But not the other one."

"The other one? You mean Fen-Fen?"

"Yes, Hawke. _That _one."

"Fletcher. And it's a deal," declared Hawke. "I'll…_try_ to remember."

"See that you do," warned Fenris, and the fact that his eyebrow rose was not lost on Hawke.

"There he is again! I think I'll give him a name…Bill? Yes…I think that quite suits him."

"Hawke…"

Noticing Fenris's eyes moving to his sword that rested against the wall, Hawke relented. "I'm going," he sniggered. "And it's _Fletcher_." With one last peck to Fenris's cheek, he sailed out of the door, leaving Fenris smiling and shaking his head.

~o~O~o~

It was a sombre-looking Varric who was waiting at the Hanged Man for Hawke, and he quickly ushered the mage into his room.

"All right, Varric, what's so important?" a concerned Hawke asked as he closed the door.

"Siddown." Varric pointed to the chair next to the fireplace, and Hawke sat upon it while the dwarf perched himself on the edge of the bed. "Hawke, I've just had some news. It might not mean anything, but I thought you should know."

"News?"

"My man in the Vinmark Mountains sent word to me not long ago: a large group of people arrived last night and have holed up somewhere on Sundermount. He was pretty sure they were slavers: they had that look about them, and there were several mages among them."

Hawke stood up and stared at the fireplace, a hand covering his mouth. "Did he get a good look at them? The mages, I mean?"

"There was no one among them matching Danarius's description, Hawke. I was very specific about that."

Hawke exhaled and nodded, but said nothing.

"They're not necessarily here for the elf, Hawke," Varric tried to reassure him. "These creeps make forays into the Free Marches a few times each year. They don't come more often than that, because of the length of the journey, _and_ they'd have to travel across the Silent Plains, which I can't imagine is pleasant."

"A few times a year, you say?" asked Hawke. "How many's a few, Varric?"

"I dunno," said the dwarf with a shrug. "Two or three? If that."

"Two or three a year?" Hawke repeated, and Varric nodded. "And yet this is the second group of slavers that have arrived in Kirkwall in as many months. We saw off the first lot the night we met Fenris."

Varric slowly pushed himself up and poured them both a snifter of whiskey. "That's unusual, Hawke, but not unheard of," he said, passing Hawke his drink. "There…was something else, though, which could also be considered unusual."

Hawke paused as he brought the small glass up to his mouth.

"This group was led by a woman," Varric elaborated. "The Tevinters are a patriarchal bunch, what with all the Kossith and Magisters running around: most of the Magisters are men, and I'll be darned if I've ever _heard_ of a female Kossith, let alone_ seen_ one."

"Was she a mage?" Hawke asked, and Varric nodded his head slowly.

"Still doesn't mean anything, Hawke," he said, "but it might help if the elf could give you a description of that woman he told us about? The one that used to beat on him?"

Hawke downed the contents of his glass in one, and passed it to Varric for a refill. "You say they're on Sundermount? Is_ that_ unusual?"

"Nuh-uh," replied the dwarf. "They usually set up a base there before they waylay the poor sods that travel up the mountain path. They've been doing it for years. I'm still amazed at the stupidity of people who go rambling up there alone." He shook his head and passed Hawke another snifter.

"Don't the Dalish have anything to say about that?" Hawke asked, dismayed. "Aren't _they _in danger?"

A brief flash of irritation flickered across the dwarf's face, before his features returned to their usual placid state. "The Dalish don't own the mountain," he explained. "If I were a betting man, Hawke, I'd say there's an arrangement in place, there: the Dalish leave the slavers alone, and vice versa. The Dalish have only ever looked after their own kind." He shook his head again. "I can see it from their point of view, I guess, but it does kinda leave a nasty taste in the mouth."

Hawke turned away from Varric and stared down at his drink.

"You gonna tell him, Hawke?"

Met with silence, Varric moved to Hawke's side. "Look, they're not going anywhere at the moment, Hawke; I have a couple of guys keeping an eye out. I _would _recommend that the elf moves out of the mansion sooner rather than later, though."

"He's leaving tonight," Hawke said quietly. "His first shift starts at six bells, and he won't be going back, so the place is all yours after that. Are you sure that none of the slavers have left Sundermount? He's on his own at the mansion, and I'm supposed to be helping Anders out at the clinic, but I…you've got me thinking, now."

Varric nodded. "Fifteen came through the mountain pass, and fifteen are up on the mountain. They're going nowhere, for now. Six bells, huh?" he mused. "Well, I think I'll pay him a courtesy visit. Give him the honour of being whupped at Brag again. After all, if he's on night duty, I guess he won't be joining our game for a while."

"Thanks, Varric," Hawke said through a shaky sigh. "For everything. Just…don't mention this to him, yet. Like you said, it might be nothing."

"You don't seem to think so, Hawke."

"I just…if we _were_ to tell him, he might take off into the mountains. I don't think we'd be able to persuade him otherwise. I don't want _anything_ jeopardising his position in the Guard. From what Donnic has told me, Aveline took a lot of convincing to accept Fenris. I want him to turn up on time for his shift. I want him out of that mansion. I want him to be _safe_ before anything else is considered."

"All right, Hawke, but if he finds out you knew and didn't tell him…"

"I'll deal with that if and when the time comes," Hawke said resolutely. "When he goes after them, which he _will_, I want us to be with him, and Anders as well, if he'll come. That just isn't possible, today: a refugee ship has just docked and Anders needs my help. And you have a mansion to booby-trap."

"I'll get the place cleared out as soon as the elf leaves for the barracks," Varric promised. "I'll even walk him there. Now, you'd better go and see to your patients."

"Varric…" Hawke extended his hand, and the dwarf shook it. "One day, I'll find a way to repay you."

"Hey, forget it! You already made my wet dreams a reality, remember?"

"Oh, did you _have_ to?" Hawke complained, snatching his hand back.

"Get out of here," Varric told him with a chuckle. "I've got an elf to humiliate."

Hawke nodded and slapped Varric's arm before departing, a heavy feeling settling in his chest as he headed for Darktown.


	36. Chapter 36

Hawke entered the clinic just as the first of the refugees started to arrive, and he and Anders were kept busy for the next several hours. Hawke had spoken to Walter again upon his arrival, asking the youngster to inform him when the Guard complement changed over. Although Hawke didn't doubt Varric's promise to keep Fenris company and escort him to the barracks, the thought of the slavers' presence in Kirkwall weighed heavily on his mind.

It was a huge relief to Hawke, therefore, when Walter informed him that the Guard had changed over at seven bells, and the new complement comprised Donnic, two others and a new guard who wore a helm, and had the build of an elf.

After that, Hawke, who had been a little quieter than was usual, relaxed and actually started to enjoy himself. Some of the more genial refugees helped Hawke and Anders out: one man, Drake, had served under General Loghain and had survived Ostagar. Having had some medical training, he set up a triage for the wounded, which took a huge load off the grateful mages. A number of the women kept the children, some of whom were orphans, occupied, and one of them, a former cook for a noble family named Mallory, had a whip-round and arranged for some cheap vegetables and flour to be purchased from the surface. She then made a huge pot of chunky soup for the refugees, and insisted that Hawke and Anders take regular breaks.

"This is what I love about doing this," Anders told Hawke during a lull. "All of these people from different backgrounds, none of whom knew each other before they left Ferelden, have all become friends on the way over and they're all pitching in together. Life down here can be grim sometimes, but this is the part I enjoy. Just look at them."

With an approving nod, Hawke watched the new refugees help each other set up makeshift beds for the night, aided by the 'regulars': the refugees that had been there for longer, or didn't yet have the means to move elsewhere.

"I can't wait to work down here with you, Anders," Hawke enthused. "We could make things so much better for them, you know. With a bit of money behind us, we could set up tutors for the kids – maybe even some of the adults - or have them learn a skill or trade of some kind. That way, they'd be able to stand on their own two feet instead of vegetating down here."

Anders grinned at Hawke, his eyes shining. "I see you've been thinking about this."

"I have. I mentioned it to Sebastian one time, and he said there'd be plenty of volunteers from the chantry to teach the kids their letters. Maybe we could get some of the local merchants and artisans to give a few pointers on starting up businesses, or to actually teach some of their skills? We'd probably have to pay them, but wouldn't it be great?"

Anders laughed. "You have some wonderful ideas, there, Hawke, but where's all this money coming from? I don't charge for my services, remember? The only reason I can keep the clinic going is because I do jobs with you. Lirene helped me out at first, but she's done enough for me."

"Well, I have a few ideas on the money front, as well," Hawke replied. "Varric reckons that we'll all be fabulously wealthy after the expedition, but I'm not relying on that: you know how he exaggerates. There was _one_ thing I thought of, but…you probably won't like it."

"I'm not going to start charging people, Hawke," Anders said, shaking his head.

"No, wait, just hear me out," urged Hawke, holding a hand up. Anders rolled his eyes but nodded.

"I'm not suggesting we charge the refugees; I didn't have a pot to piss in when I came here, and I suspect that most of these people are no better off. No, what I propose is charging the people who _can _afford it. What about that Seneschal Bran? He was in here _again _today, all because he can't keep it in his pants. He must be _rolling_ in it. Is it fair that he uses up your resources because of – let's be honest – a self-inflicted illness? What about the guards, the merchants? They're getting a regular wage. You're using your own money to treat these people, yet they could easily afford a few silvers, couldn't they?

Anders's brow creased as he considered Hawke's words.

"I know you love what you do," Hawke went on, "but do you want to be stuck down here forever? Don't you want a place of your own, a family, even? Don't you deserve that? You need to start saving some money for yourself."

A wistful look came into Anders's eyes, then, and he hung his head a little. "That's a nice thought, Hawke, but a family…" He shook his head and sighed.

"Well, even if that's not what you want, there are so many other things you could do. You could still work here, but you need to have a life of some kind _outside _the clinic. You spent half your life locked up in a Tower. Get yourself out there. Meet someone. Do something for _Anders_ for a change."

"That _would _be nice, wouldn't it?" Anders considered with a forlorn note in his voice.

"You should listen to your friend," said a voice from behind them. They turned to see Mallory, the refugee who'd made the soup, beaming up at them, her blue eyes twinkling. "You don't want to be stuck down here all the time, Anders. _ I_ certainly have no intention of being here forever. I have plans," she added with a bright smile.

"Oh, yes?" grinned Anders. "What are these plans of yours, then?"

"Well, tomorrow I'm going up to the surface to look for work. I'm not fussy: I'll do anything. Well…_almost_ anything," she added with a wink. "Some of the people that came with us on the ship are bemoaning their new lot in life. Not me: I had a decent job before, but fate has placed me on the bottom rung. Nothing to do but work my way back up; moaning's not going to get me anywhere, is it?"

"To be fair, Mallory, some of them have good reason to moan," Anders told her. "I've heard some very sad stories."

"Oh, I'm not arguing with you there, Anders. But have you noticed that the ones who are the most down on their luck are the ones who've helped out today? _Some_ of them just walked in here, got treated by you or Hawke, and left without so much as a please, thank you or kiss my arse. _They're_ the ones I'm talking about: they think they'll have everything handed to them on a plate. Well, they're in for a shock, I can tell you."

"I can't argue with that," said Hawke.

"No, I suppose not," replied Anders thoughtfully. "Well, Mallory, we really appreciate what you've done here, today." Hawke nodded his agreement.

"Call me Mal," she insisted. "And thank _you_. I think you're both Maker-sent, honestly, I do. Well, you don't want me in your hair; I expect you'll be wanting to get some rest."

"No, it's all right." Anders shrugged his shoulders. "Hawke and I were thinking of having some supper. Any of that soup left?"

"Plenty," she replied. "Shall I warm a bit up for you both?"

"Oh, that's very kind of you," Anders said warmly.

"I've brought some bread and cheese with me," said Hawke. "It's a shame there's not enough for everyone, but it'll go three ways."

"Well, for that, Hawke, you're getting a double helping!" she chirped, and, with another wink, she headed over to the pot to get a fire going.

"She's a spirited lass," commented Hawke. "And she's only a tiny little thing, as well!" He glanced askance at Anders and nudged him. "Pretty, too."

"Hm? Who's pretty?" mumbled Anders, his mind elsewhere.

"Well, if you can tear your eyes off her for a second, maybe you'll know what I'm on about," Hawke joshed.

"Don't know what you mean," Anders replied quickly. "Where's that bread and cheese you mentioned?"

"All right then, Anders; change the subject, by all means."

"Shut up, you," Anders shot back with a smirk. "Speaking of changing the subject, your idea about charging the ones who can afford it? Justice thinks that's fair."

"Well, it's nice to know I have Justice's vote, but I asked _you_. This is your clinic, Anders. I'm not going to just stroll in here and start laying down the law; I just have a few ideas, that's all. We will need to make _some _money, though."

Anders thought about this for a moment and nodded. "I do like your ideas. Tell you what, let's get the expedition out of the way first, and, if we're _not _fabulously wealthy by then, we'll talk seriously, yes?"

"You're on!" Hawke agreed, and, with a slap to Anders's back, the two healers went over to Mallory to see if she needed a hand.

A short time after supper, Mallory cleared away, assisted by Anders, while Hawke began to tidy the clinic. They seemed to be getting on well, and Hawke made a mental note to ask Mallory if she'd like to help out around the clinic more often. If Anders made more friends, Hawke reasoned, then maybe he wouldn't be so fixated on Hawke, or feel left out when he wasn't around. The fact she was a very pretty girl didn't hurt, either.

After bidding goodnight to Mallory, and treating a few more refugees that had wandered in, Anders extinguished the lantern, thus closing the clinic for the night, but left the doors open as he always did in case of an emergency.

Hawke had made some tea and they took a seat on a couple of crates while they drank it.

"Anders, do you think you'll be free tomorrow?" Hawke asked him.

"Why, is there a job?"

"Sort of." Hawke took a deep breath. "The thing is, I've had word that some slavers have arrived in Kirkwall and are hiding up in the mountains. Varric and I suspect that they may be here for Fenris. Now, I know that you and Fenris are not the best of friends, but I could really use you, Anders. There are fifteen of them, and I don't know if one healer will be enough."

"Who else is coming along?" asked Anders.

"Well, me and Fenris, obviously; Varric, and hopefully Beth will come, too. I'll pop into the chantry in the morning and see if Sebastian will help. Might try the alienage, as well, see if Merrill's up for it."

"That's not much against fifteen, Hawke. I'm assuming that some of them will be mages?"

"About half of them," answered Hawke. "And, if we're correct in assuming they've been sent on behalf of Danarius, there's a strong chance that some of them will be blood mages. I need you and I need Justice, Anders: that's the truth."

"All right, Hawke, I'll come for _you_. It's the least I can do after the help you've given me today."

Hawke released a relieved sigh. "Thanks, Anders; I really appreciate it."

"Actually, I'm surprised that Fenris is prepared to wait until tomorrow; I would have thought he'd be chomping at the bit."

"Erm…he doesn't actually know, yet."

"Eh? How come?" Anders asked.

"If I'd told him, he would have just taken off after them. Neither you nor I would have been able to go with him, and I wasn't about to abandon you after promising I'd help with the next lot of refugees. And Fenris's first shift is tonight. If he hadn't turned up for that, he might have been kicked out of the Guard: he's only on trial. He would then have to go back to the mansion, and I'm just not prepared to let that happen. And there are fifteen of them. We need time to get people together."

Anders nodded and raised his eyebrows. "I can see your point of view, Hawke, but I can't imagine he'll be pleased you kept it from him."

"Oh, he won't be, I'm certain of that. But it's better that he's pissed off with me than dead or captured. I doubt Fenris will see it that way, but I stand by my decision, and I'd do it again."

"Well, I'll stick up for you, Hawke, you know that."

"I don't need anyone to stick up for me, Anders; like I said, I stand by my decision. I'm going to let him finish his shift, and go back to the barracks and sleep, where he's _safe_. Then I'll tell him."

"Have you…told him…about the other thing?" Anders asked cautiously.

Hawke shook his head, his posture slumping. "I know I should, and I want to…just as much as I _don't_ want to. I _almost_ toldhim earlier today, but…the words just wouldn't come out. I don't know what to do for the best."

Anders shook his head disapprovingly. "I think you _do _know what's best; you just don't want to do it. Wouldn't it be better to come from you than from someone else, or for him to find out some other way?"

"Someone else?" Hawke asked accusingly.

"No, I'm not going to tell him!" protested Anders. "I know there was that one time when I was being an idiot, but…well, I know it'd kill you for him to find out like that. I won't do that to you, Hawke, I swear."

Hawke released a long breath and rolled his head against his shoulders. "Well, I don't see how else he _would_ find out. I don't use it anymore: I don't need to."

"If you're so confident of him not finding out, then why do you look so worried, Hawke?"

"I just…I just hate lying to him. He's accepted me, as a mage, I mean. It took a lot for him to trust me, and if I were to tell him now, that trust would be destroyed. We'd be finished. But with every second that I don't tell him, I'm deceiving him. Oh, bollocks, Anders…what should I do? I…I don't want to lose him."

For several minutes, neither man spoke, and then Anders stood up, taking Hawke's empty mug. "If I were you, Hawke, I'd tell him. You said that he's accepted you, despite you being a mage. Maybe that means he's prepared to be a little more open-minded? I'm not saying he'll jump for joy, but maybe he'll see that a person who knows blood magic is not necessarily evil. And…" Anders sat back down next to Hawke. "I don't know if you two have…you know, but what if one night you talk in your sleep while he's next to you? Have a dream? Have a _visit_?"

Hawke stood up, clapping a hand over his mouth in horror. Anders also got to his feet and stood in front of him. "For him to find out like that, Hawke…all right, I'll admit: the thought of that doesn't bother me as much as the thought of how _you'd _feel. You _have _to tell, him, Hawke, before things start getting really serious between you."

"Shit," Hawke said shakily. "You-you're right. I have to tell him. This is weighing me down. I'm just…afraid of what he'll do."

Anders placed a comforting hand on Hawke's shoulder. "Look at it this way: he's got to know you, and likes you a lot. He's never met a blood mage who is actually a decent person. He knows that about you already. You just have to make him see that you've denounced your powers and don't use them anymore. It won't be easy, but it'll be a lot easier than him finding out some other way."

Hawke nodded and swallowed hard, feeling the sting of tears at the back of his throat. "Maybe…maybe tomorrow, when we go after Hadriana – if it _is _her. Maybe seeing her again will reinforce the differences between mages like her and mages like us?"

"Exactly," Anders replied. "And we'd better make sure we kill her. Hopefully then he'll see how much you want to protect him and how much you care about him."

"Maker…this is going to be one of the hardest things I've ever done," Hawke said in a hushed tone, looking at the ground. "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Anders replied with a firm nod. His eyes wandered over to the doors, and he cleared his throat noisily. "Speak of the devil," he whispered, nodding over to the doors.

Seeing Fenris and Donnic enter the clinic, Hawke turned away, took a deep breath, plastered a smile across his face and turned around. "Ah…here come our brave defenders!" he said brightly. Donnic strode over and shook Hawke's hand, while Fenris, who had removed his helm upon entering, exchanged a perfunctory nod with Anders for Hawke's sake.

"I don't believe you've met Anders, have you, Donnic?" asked Hawke.

"No, I've not had the pleasure," replied Donnic, reaching for Anders's hand. "I've heard a lot about you, but I've been fortunate enough not to need your services, yet."

Anders shook his hand and smiled. "And I hope that doesn't change. Good to meet you."

"You've really got this place organised, haven't you?" Donnic complimented, looking at the meticulously-arranged array of potions, unguents and balms that sat at one end of the clinic, protected by a magical field, while Hawke grinned at Fenris, who smiled back with his eyes.

"Well, I'd be happy to show you around, if you you'd like?" offered Anders, and Donnic accepted enthusiastically, leaving Hawke and Fenris alone.

"Evening, guardsman," Hawke greeted, looking approvingly at Fenris's new armour.

"Good evening, Fletcher," Fenris replied, his smile moving to his lips.

"How's Bill?" asked Hawke.

"Rested, though I feel him stirring even as we speak," joked Fenris, and Hawke burst out laughing.

"How's your first shift going? Anything exciting happened?"

Fenris shook his head. "Not so far. It's funny," he said thoughtfully. "Donnic told me that most of the other guards abhor shifts in Darktown, but I am quite enjoying it. I…have you to thank for that, Fletcher. I know that you suggested this in order to protect my identity, but I also feel like…like I…" He shrugged his shoulders.

"Like you belong?" Hawke ventured.

"Yes," Fenris answered with a warm smile. "I want you to know how grateful I am. I…may not always show it, but…"

"I know." Hawke glanced over his shoulder, and, seeing that Anders and Donnic were deep in conversation, he reached for Fenris's hand and gave it a squeeze before releasing it. "You called me Fletcher."

"I did." Fenris cleared his throat and glanced down at his chest. "What do you think of my armour?" he asked.

"You're wearing your old breastplate," Hawke observed.

"The new one will not be ready for another few days. What do you think of the rest of it?"

"Give me a twirl," Hawke requested.

Fenris shook his head.

"Well, at least let me have a look at your weapon."

"I _beg _your pardon?" Fenris demanded with mock-severity.

"Your sword, you nitwit." Hawke moved behind Fenris, and then, remembering that Fenris disliked anyone standing behind him, moved to his side. "That's a lovely sword, Fenris. Very…shapely."

"Since when have _you_ been interested in swords?" Fenris asked sceptically. "If I did not know better, I would suspect that you are looking at my posterior." Fenris turned to face Hawke and folded his arms. "The armour…?"

"Killjoy," Hawke tutted and took a step back, clasping his chin and eyeing Fenris appraisingly. "I like the colour of the tunic; it goes nicely with your eyes. Fawn and moss green: the colours of nature. Very nice."

Fenris pulled a face. "Colours? I was talking about the craftsmanship." He held up a polished steel vambrace for Hawke to inspect. "If you can appreciate the craftsmanship that goes into a _wall_, I'm certain you can appreciate the work that has gone into this."

"Oh, yeah," Hawke mumbled indifferently, holding back a snigger at Fenris's disapproving frown. "I'm not sure about combining fawn with steel, though; you see, fawn's a warm colour, and steel is cool. They sort of clash."

"…_Clash_? What are you…is that all you have to say?" Fenris, strongly suspecting that Hawke was teasing him, held back his own smile and deepened his frown.

"I like your tunic and greaves, though," Hawke added, lowering his voice, his eyes roaming down to Fenris's legs. "They're very…tight-fitting. I _do _appreciate that. A lot."

A quiet snicker escaped the elf's mouth, and he lowered his head, shaking it. "Stop it," he quietly remonstrated. "I am supposed to appear stern and authoritative."

"Oh, don't let me stop you," Hawke teased. "I _like_ it when you look stern."

"I am going to walk over there, now," Fenris told him with laughter in his voice, moving to stand with Donnic and Anders.

"Hey, Fenris," Hawke called after him, and Fenris stopped, but didn't turn around. "You look even _better_ from behind."

Fenris shook his head and continued walking, but, just before he reached Donnic, he turned back and shot Hawke an amused glance.

Hawke joined the other three, and, after a brief discussion, Donnic apologised that there would be no time for a card game tonight because of the influx of refugees, but promised that he and Fenris would have more time later in the week.

"Well, I'll walk out with you both," Hawke told the guards, "As I'm going home. I think we're finished here for the night, aren't we, Anders?"

"Oh yes, Hawke, and thanks again for everything that you've done. See you tomorrow." Anders shook Hawke's hand and bade them all goodnight, and Fenris replaced his helm before exiting the clinic.

"I will walk you home," Fenris said to Hawke as they made their way through Darktown.

"Oh, there's no need, Fenris, but I appreciate the offer," replied Hawke. "I don't live far from here."

"It was _not_ an offer," Fenris said firmly. "Besides, I am still officially on my break, so I can go where I choose."

"Ha!" laughed Donnic. "You sound like one of us, all right. I wouldn't argue with him, Hawke. I'll go and see how Davy and Filbert are getting on; they'll be taking their breaks soon, so we'll relieve them when you get back, Fenners."

Fenris shook his head at the use of his nickname. "I will have to come up with a suitable monicker for _you_, Donnic. _Donners_, perhaps, or something similarly trite."

Donnic chuckled and slapped Fenris's shoulder. "I'd be honoured if you called me Donners! What a great name!"

Fenris groaned and shook his head again.

"I love this guy's sense of humour," Donnic said to Hawke.

"So do I," Hawke agreed with a discreet nudge to Fenris's arm. A helmed head turned towards him and Hawke knew that _Bill _had put in an appearance, but decided not to mention it, preferring to keep his own teasing of Fenris a private thing.

Saying goodnight to Donnic, Hawke and Fenris went up to the surface and took a slow walk to Lowtown. On the way, Hawke asked Fenris what time he would be available the following day.

"Oh, yes…for our reading lesson," Fenris said. Hawke nodded stiffly, not wanting to compound the lie by saying it out loud. "Well, my shift ends at four bells, and then there is an hour or so of paperwork at the barracks, which Donnic will assist me with. Then, I will sleep. I would envisage that I will be available from around midday…would that suit you?"

"Absolutely," Hawke answered, already planning a visit to the alienage and the chantry on the way. "Whenever's best for you. I'll meet you at the barracks, if you don't mind? I need to see Aveline about something, anyway."

"As you wish, Fletcher."

Hawke grinned. "Have you been practising, like I suggested?"

"If you mean, have I been walking around Darktown muttering under my breath, the answer is no," quipped Fenris.

"Then more credit to you for remembering!" Hawke chortled, with another nudge.

"Kindly refrain from _nudging _my armour," Fenris chided, dusting his arm down. "This is new, you know."

"All right, but I get double nudges when you're off-duty."

"You are incorrigible," laughed Fenris.

"Yes, but you wouldn't change me for the world…right? Right, Fenris?"

The silent helm once again turned towards him, and then faced straight ahead.

"I don't think I like that helmet of yours," pouted Hawke. "I can't tell what you're thinking."

"You can't, can you? Perhaps I will wear it more often."

"What, you mean when you're _not _on duty?" asked Hawke with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows. "Can we play 'Guardsman and Criminal'?"

Fenris immediately quickened his pace and walked ahead to the slums, but the trembling of his arms and shoulders was unmistakable.

"You're laughing under there, aren't you?" Hawke called to him.

"No," replied Fenris, his voice wavering slightly. "Ah…we appear to have reached your home."

Hawke arrived beside him and looked up the steps leading to Gamlen's house, which was in darkness. "I wonder if Varric's cleared the mansion out, yet?" Hawke cogitated.

"I didn't hear that," Fenris claimed.

"I _said_-" Hawke stated loudly, but stopped and laughed when Fenris clamped his hands over his ears. Slowly, he removed them, and Hawke folded his arms, giving Fenris a stern look.

"Some bent guard _you _turned out to be."

"I apologise if I've proved a disappointment to you." Fenris glanced around, and, seeing nobody else about, removed his helm and smoothed his hair, taking a step nearer to Hawke. "Quickly," he whispered.

"Quickly, what?"

Hawke's question was answered decisively when Fenris pulled him close for a brief but sweet kiss.

"Is that all I get?" moaned Hawke as Fenris pulled away and replaced his helm.

"For now," replied Fenris playfully. "I look forward to seeing you tomorrow."

Tomorrow. Hawke's gut lurched at the thought of what that would bring, but he kept his smile fixed in place. "Will you be all right going back on your own?"

"Of course; why would I not be?" answered Fenris confidently.

"Yes, of course you'll be fine." Hawke's heart rate quickened, and he hoped his doubts didn't reflect in his voice, even though Varric had assured him that the slavers were staying put for now. "Thanks for walking me home, Fen," he said softly.

Fenris removed a gauntlet and reached up, resting his hand against Hawke's cheek. "Sleep well, Fletcher. Goodnight."

Hawke clasped Fenris's hand and moved it to his mouth, kissing his knuckles. "Goodnight, Fen. Be safe on the way back."

"I will." Fenris squeezed Hawke's hand and then released it. "Until tomorrow." With a nod, he turned and headed out of the slums, turning back once he was almost out of sight and gesturing for Hawke to go up the steps. Hawke did so, and waved his hand in farewell. Fenris gave another nod before rounding a corner and disappearing.

Hawke slumped against the wall next to the front door and closed his eyes, taking in several lungfuls of the chill evening air. Tomorrow. Possibly the day when someone who had long tormented and humiliated Fenris would finally be out of his life.

Possibly the day that Fenris would walk out of Hawke's life.

He fumbled around for his key, and, upon entering, laughed mirthlessly at the fancy new furniture that Varric had 'liberated' from the mansion. Locking the door, he walked over to the dying fire and tossed a few pieces of wood onto it, careful not to wake anyone.

He forced himself to walk over to the settee - his and Fenris's settee – and sat down, immediately standing up again, and dragged his fingers through his hair as he paced next to the fireplace. He then glanced over at the spot on the settee where Fenris always sat, wondering if, after tomorrow, that spot would remain forever vacant.

With a heavy sigh, he trudged over and sat next to Fenris's spot, running his hand along the seat, feeling a connection with Fenris that gave him a sliver of comfort. He removed his boots and brought his legs up, knowing that he'd need a good rest in anticipation of what the coming day would bring, and did his best to clear his mind of all troubling thoughts.

He didn't sleep a wink that night.


	37. Chapter 37

"Maker's breath, Hawke, you look like hell. Bad night?"

"Yeah. Bad night." Hawke dragged his feet into Aveline's office and took a seat without being invited. "How are things with you?" he asked listlessly.

"Fine." She took her own seat and closely watched Hawke, who was struggling to keep his eyes open. "What brings you here, Hawke?"

"Hm? Erm…what _did _bring me here?" His brow wrinkled in confusion, and he rubbed his forehead hard.

Aveline laughed. "So, how many did you have last night?"

"None. Absolutely none. I wish I _had _got pissed, now; it might at least have been worth me feeling like this." He made a half-arsed attempt to sit up straight. "Oh…I know why I came here, now. You're aware that Fenris does jobs with me from time to time, aren't you?"

"_Yes_, Hawke. I did one with you both, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. Erm, well…I know that Fenris has only just joined the Guard, but he has a job to do with me tonight. It's very important and I need him. I know he hasn't told you, but that's my fault: I forgot to remind him about it."

Aveline folded her arms. "That's funny, Hawke…Fenris doesn't seem like the forgetful type, to me."

"Well, I guess he's been so excited, what with joining the Guard and all, that it slipped his mind."

"_Excited_? Fenris? Are we talking about the same man, here?"

"Well, it doesn't matter, anyway," Hawke retorted, irritated that Aveline hadn't fallen for his story. "The fact is, I need him tonight, so he won't be able to do his shift. And let me make it clear that it's _my_ fault that _anyone _forgot. It doesn't matter _who_ forgot, does it? So I just wanted to tell you that, and would appreciate it if he didn't get into trouble for not turning up for his shift. As I was saying, I forgot to tell him. Remind him, I mean. About this job."

Aveline sat back in her chair and folded her arms tighter. "Are you aware that you ramble when you're lying, Hawke?"

Hawke blinked several times, his somnolent brain haltingly processing her words. "Are-are you calling me a _liar_, Aveline?"

"Is there some doubt, here? You _are_ a liar, and a pretty terrible one, at that." She leaned across the desk. "I'm a busy woman, Hawke. Is this something to do with those slavers up in the mountains?"

"E-eh? How do you know about that?"

"Oh, Hawke," Aveline groaned. "You know the patrols up in the mountains? Who do you think they work for?"

Hawke looked at her, his puffy eyes wide. "Erm…the city Guard…?"

"The city Guard," she answered. "We've been keeping an eye on them. So far, they haven't broken any laws, so we can't touch them. Does Fenris plan to go after them?"

Hawke looked to his side, and, at first, didn't answer. "He has a job with me," he stated again.

"Hawke, I can't condone one of my men going off on a private vendetta," she said firmly, watching him for a reaction. "Particularly when he's supposed to be on duty."

"Who said anything about a vendetta?" Hawke protested hurriedly. "I told you, we have a job…"

"That's enough, Hawke. I don't have time for this. Either tell me the truth or go. I have a lot to do."

"Oh, all right," he lamented, accepting that he wasn't going to outwit Aveline _today_. "Yes, we're going after them. We have reason to believe that Danarius's apprentice, Hadriana, is among them."

"_We_, Hawke? Who's we? Who else is going with you?"

"Varric, Bethany, Anders, Sebastian and Merrill are all meeting me in about an hour. I'm here to collect Fenris."

"I don't know Sebastian or Merrill. Are they reliable?"

Hawke nodded. "You did meet Merrill once, in the pub; briefly, though."

"So that's seven of you. From what I've heard, Hawke, there are quite a few slavers up there. You're going to be outnumbered," she said thoughtfully, and paused for a few moments before standing up. "Where are you meeting?"

"The usual place."

Aveline tapped her index finger against her chin and walked back and forth slowly. "I think I can spare a few…all right, Hawke; I'll meet you there. I've had enough of waiting for them to attack someone. Let them attack _us_; then I can finally arrest them. Don't worry, Hawke; they'll be behind bars before nightfall."

Hawke groaned and pushed himself to his feet. "Aveline…I really, _really _appreciate the offer, don't get me wrong. But you have to realise that I don't think Fenris has any intention of _arresting _them, particularly Hadriana."

"Fenris is a soldier in my regiment and is aware of the laws and statutes of the city. He can't just go around killing, willy-nilly. He _knows _that, Hawke."

Hawke shook his head sombrely. "Not this time, Aveline. This…woman is not just a criminal. She's evil. You _don't_ know what she did to him. She deserves everything she gets."

"That's just your opinion, Hawke," Aveline argued. "It's not up to you, or Fenris, to hand out death sentences."

"Like I said, Aveline, I appreciate your offer, but I think it's best you have nothing to do with this. Forget you saw me." Hawke started to walk over to the door.

"I can't do that, Hawke, not now you've told me," she replied. "I'll be there in an hour with a few of my guards to make sure the law is upheld. If the slavers attack us, then sure, we'll need to defend ourselves. If that results in their deaths, then that's fair enough. What you can't do, Hawke, is just go after someone with the intention of killing them simply for being here."

"Rest assured, Aveline, Hadriana _will _attack us with everything she's got, and that she _will _die. Just do one thing for me: leave her to Fenris."

"It might not work out like that, Hawke."

"_Leave_ her to Fenris," he persisted. "This is very important to him. He needs to be the one."

Aveline sighed and reached behind her neck, tightening her ponytail. "All right, but not at the cost of his life. If he's in trouble, we _will _step in."

"We all will, but don't kill her unless there's no other choice. Please."

Aveline nodded. "We'll do what we can."

"Thank you," Hawke said sincerely, stifling a yawn. "Is Fenris about?"

"Yes, he's up; his shift went for ablutions not long ago, so he should be around. He did very well, you know, Hawke. Last night, I mean."

Hawke's face lit up. "Oh, yes?"

"Some of my guards look down their noses at the refugees, but Donnic told me that Fenris was very compassionate and patient with them. He dealt with a couple of drunks, and was firm, but not heavy-handed. I'm actually thinking of permanently assigning them to Darktown; they seemed to enjoy it. And to think, it was meant as a punishment…"

"Really?" Hawke's grey and drawn face brightened a little. "You had to_ punish_ Donnic? What for?"

"Never you mind," she said sternly, pushing him towards the door. "Off you go. I need to find a few volunteers."

"You're brilliant, Aveline," he called as he was shoved out of the office, "And I'm still going to marry you one day."

"From what I hear, Fenris might have something to say about that," she answered.

"Is there anything you _don't _hear?" groused Hawke.

"Not a thing. Now, sod off. See you in an hour."

Hawke blew her a kiss and she firmly closed the door, shaking her head.

~o~O~o~

After finding Fenris, who was with Donnic talking to a small group of their colleagues, Hawke was introduced to Davy and Filbert, the other two guards who'd been on duty in Darktown during the night.

"This is my friend, Fletcher Hawke," Fenris told them. "He is teaching me to read, and we are going to have our lesson, soon, aren't we?" Fenris glanced up at Hawke, who nodded, and the smile they shared made it obvious that they were more than friends.

"Teaching him to read, eh?" remarked Davy, folding his arms. "Well, when you get to the letter 'R', can you teach him the meaning of the word 'round'?"

The guards fell about laughing, and Donnic clapped a hand around Fenris's shoulders. "That's right. We nipped into the pub last night before our shift, and Fenris's round never seemed to arrive."

"We did not have enough time," Fenris contended, as if they'd been over this several times. "I told you: I will stand you to the first round this evening."

"Now, you're a witness to that, Hawke," Donnic said.

"Aren't you guards supposed to be sober when you're on duty?" Hawke queried amusedly.

"Look, mate, it's bloody cold in Darktown, y'know," Filbert piped up. "We need a little something to warm our blood, don't we?"

"Fair enough," Hawke chuckled. "Well, Fenris, are you ready to go? There's something I want to show you."

"Probably best we're not here for that, then," joked Donnic, and Hawke rolled his eyes. After much shaking of hands, the other three guards departed.

"Something to show me?" asked Fenris. "I'm intrigued."

"Well, don't get too excited; I haven't discovered Andraste's birthplace or anything," replied Hawke as they left the barracks. "I'm hoping you'll like it, though."

"I'm sure I will," Fenris answered warmly. "Whatever it is."

As they walked through Hightown and down the steps into Lowtown, Fenris, after some prompting, told Hawke about his shift. Hawke was so proud and immersed in the conversation that he almost forgot what had been on his mind, what had kept him awake all night. However, as they neared their destination – an anonymous-looking building not far from the Hanged Man – the conversation lulled slightly, and Hawke's mind, and stomach, began doing somersaults.

"Here we are," Hawke said, taking a key from his pocket and unlocking the door. "After you."

"Isn't this the place that Sister Petrice abandoned?" Fenris asked with a frown as they entered, his frown intensifying as he noticed that the small house had been done out very nicely with several pieces of furniture from the mansion.

"Yes," answered Hawke, closing the door. "Varric's…looking after the place for the time being."

Fenris removed his helm and placed it on a table, and his sword against a wall. "What you mean is, he has claimed possession of it without having any legal right to do so," he guessed.

"Look, you're off-duty, now," Hawke said, doing his best to keep his tone light. "This is something that Varric needs to work out with Aveline; it has nothing to do with us."

Fenris sighed, knowing full well that Hawke would charm himself out of any his protestations. "What does he intend to do with the place?"

Hawke smiled lopsidedly and gave a rueful shrug. "Well, he said it's for his friends to use when they need some privacy."

"Privacy?" There was a question and a hint of amusement in Fenris's voice as he took a seat in a wingback chair, groaning softly and stretching his legs out in front of him.

"All right, then, if you must know, it's for him and Beth, and for you and me."

Fenris slid down in the chair a little, finding it very comfortable, and folded his hands in his lap. "For us to have…_privacy_ in?"

"Now, now, Fenris. It was very generous of Varric to give us the use of his place…erm, his place that doesn't actually belong to him," Hawke joked, taking a seat in a chair opposite Fenris. "I suspect you're misinterpreting his intentions."

"And_ I_ suspect I am not." A playful smile danced across the elf's face, and, any other time, Hawke would have taken full advantage of it. Instead, he hung his head, sighed and sat forward.

"Is…something wrong, Fletcher?"

Hawke cleared his throat and sighed again, rubbing his forehead. "Look…I need to tell you something. You know that Varric's had a few people keeping their ears to the ground?"

Fenris eagerly leaned forward in his chair. "He's heard something?"

"Yes. A group of slavers has arrived in Kirkwall and are hiding out in the mountains. I want to make it clear, though, that no one matching Danarius's description is among them."

By now, Fenris was on his feet. "But still, they may be able to provide information as to his whereabouts. We should go immediately." He retrieved his sword and turned back to Hawke. "Will you help me?"

Slowly, Hawke rose, his legs leaden as he stepped closer to Fenris. "You don't need to ask me. You know that."

"I should have known." Fenris raised a gauntlet-clad hand and gently rested it against Hawke's cheek. "Thank you." He took a step closer to Hawke but halted when Fletcher's posture stiffened. "What is it?" he demanded, a mite of anger or panic in his voice, Hawke wasn't sure which.

"Listen," Hawke said quietly, licking his lips nervously. "This group…it's led by…a female mage."

The soft light that had been in Fenris's eyes dulled and waned, and he removed his hand from Hawke's face, turning away slightly. "That is…unusual."

"Do you-do you think it could be Hadriana?" Hawke asked anxiously. He noticed Fenris's hands clenching at his sides, and his shoulders rising and falling.

"Yes, I think it could be her." Fenris's voice was cold, obdurate; his posture rigid. Hawke instinctively reached a hand out, but, just before it made contact with Fenris's shoulder, he drew it back.

Hawke's odd reaction and nervous demeanour triggered a note of alarm in Fenris, and a distinct feeling of unease gripped him. "When did you learn of their arrival?" asked the elf suspiciously, slowly turning back to face Hawke, but not looking at him.

"It doesn't matter, Fenris; let's just…"

"I _asked _you a question," snapped Fenris. "I need to know how long they have been here. How many of them are mages. Do you know this or not?"

"There are fifteen of them, and Varric's contact said that about half of them are mages."

"And?" prompted Fenris. "When did they arrive? This morning?"

Hawke shook his head, his cheeks burning. "Yesterday. No, actually, the night before."

"_Yesterday_? And you were informed of this, when? Today?"

"No, I-I was informed yesterday, but listen…"

"Listen? _Listen_, Hawke? Why…" He took a deep, unsteady breath. "Perhaps you do not understand how important this is to me!"

"I understand only too well."

"Then how…why are you telling me this a full day _after _they arrived? What is in your mind? Why did you keep this from me?"

"There are _fifteen_ of them, Fenris, and some of them are possibly blood mages. I needed time to get people together to help, and you were safest at the barracks. _That_ is why I kept it from you. I'm sorry that…"

"So _you_, alone, decided this?" Fenris gesticulated wildly with his hands, and Hawke could hear genuine panic in his voice. "Do you not think it should have been _my_ choice to decide where I was _safest_?"

"You would have just taken off after them, on your own, without a thought for your safety!" Hawke protested hotly.

"You know this for certain, do you?"

"Yes!"

"If you _know_ me as well as you claim, then you should have_ known_ not to keep this from me!" Fenris turned his back on Hawke and shook his head. "You knew of this last night when I came to the clinic. When you _joked_ and _flirted_ with me. You _knew _the whole time, and yet duplicity came so easily to you. I thought I could trust you," he said darkly. "How could I have been so stupid?"

"You _can_ trust me! Do you think I_ enjoyed_ keeping you in the dark? I've been up all night worrying over this!"

"I can trust you, can I?" Fenris mocked, spinning around, and he fixed Hawke with an icy glare. "You proclaim that I can _trust _you, and yet you speak of gathering people together behind my back, without my knowledge! You…you _and _Varric knew of this, but decided to keep it from me? Who else knows about this? Who else _knew _before I did, Hawke?"

"Look, I _told_ you I needed to get people together, Fenris," Hawke said tightly. "They've all dropped whatever they were doing to _help_ you. And Varric is blameless in this," he insisted. "He thought I _should_ tell you, but I made the decision not to."

"That would make sense," growled Fenris. "I thought you were different from other mages, but you are no better than Danarius."

"What? How-how can you compare me to him? I was _trying_ to protect you!"

"Can you not see?" Fenris rasped. "Youtook it upon yourself to decide where_ I_ should be, what _my_ movements are, and what_ I_ should know! _You_ have sought to manipulate andcontrol me at every turn! I am not in the market for a new master, Hawke!"

The sudden silence, onerous and fraught, was permeated only by Fenris's heavy breathing. Hawke was utterly dumbstruck, his mouth gaping open.

After some moments, he whispered, "I…can't believe you just said that. I knew you wouldn't take this well, but…I can't believe…how could you think…"

Fenris, as shattered at the words that had left his mouth as Hawke was to hear them, gave no answer, unable to look Hawke in the eye.

Hawke moved over to the door and opened it. "Well, I suppose I've wasted enough time," he said thickly. "We should go. They're waiting for us at the Hanged Man." Without waiting for an answer, he departed, leaving the door open.

Fenris squeezed his eyes shut, his stomach pitching and roiling as heat and nausea suffused his core. Fortunately, he hadn't yet broken his fast, else he would have spilled the contents of his stomach onto the floor. He knew that he'd hurt Hawke, and badly, but couldn't allow himself to dwell on that, now.

All that mattered was making _her_ suffer. Making her beg for mercy. Seeing the look in her eyes when she realised he would not grant it. Feeling her life ebb away, slowly, and forever committing that moment to memory. He couldn't allow his feelings for Hawke to get in the way of that. He _couldn't_.

Hawke's eyes, moist and dull with hurt and fear, winked into his mind, and his own eyes stung as he stared, unblinking, at the door. Angrily, he rubbed them hard enough to hurt, and hefted his sword onto his back.

"This is what comes of getting too close to someone! You should never have allowed it to happen!" he castigated himself before leaving the safehouse, slamming the door behind him.

~o~O~o~

"Here he is," Aveline told the group assembled outside the Hanged Man as Hawke emerged from an alley near to the pub. "Hawke, where have you been? We've been waiting here for…" She glanced behind Hawke and frowned. "Where's Fenris?"

"He's coming. I _think_," sighed Hawke wearily, and he nodded at his friends. "Afternoon," he said to them, and they murmured or nodded their replies.

"You _think_?" pressed Aveline. "He either is or he isn't, Hawke. Have we wasted our time coming here? _Is_ he coming, or not?"

"I don't know, all right?" Hawke snapped, and then covered his eyes with his hand. "Look…I'm sorry. Like I said, I had a rough night. I've just told him to meet us here. I assume he's on his way."

"I'll go and look for him," offered Donnic, who had accompanied Aveline with two other guards.

"No need," said Sebastian, who stood nearest to the alley. "I can see him approaching."

Bethany moved to Hawke's side and gently touched his arm. "Are you all right, Brother?"

He shook his head. "Look, Beth, if I'm snappy, please take no notice, all right? I had a bad night and I feel like shit. Sorry. Crap."

She squeezed his arm and smiled sympathetically as Anders also moved to Hawke's side. "He didn't take it well, then?" he guessed.

"No, he didn't," Hawke answered gruffly, and, as Fenris entered the square, Hawke turned away and walked over to Varric.

"There you are, Fenris," Aveline said to the bewildered-looking elf.

"I…had not realised there would be so many of you," he mumbled, not knowing whether to feel grateful or irritated that so many people had known about the slavers before he had. His eyes wandered over to Hawke, who stood away from the others with Varric, talking quietly. His eyes then moved towards Anders, who was giving Fenris a distinctly disparaging look. Fenris readily returned his glare, not knowing the reason for the abomination's displeasure, but not needing much of an excuse to shoot daggers at him, either.

"Over here, Fenris," called Aveline, and he walked over to her, not taking his eyes off Anders until the last moment. "Right, listen," she said to the group. "Hunter and Donnic, you'll take the vanguard with me. Fenris and Clara, you'll take the rearguard, directly behind the archers. Mages in the middle. How many mages do we have? Three?"

"Four," piped up a small voice. "I'm a mage."

"Oh, right…Mary, isn't it?" asked Aveline.

"Daisy!" shouted Varric.

"No, it's not, you pillock," Merrill chided him. "My name's Merrill, as you very well _know_." She pulled a face at him and then turned back to Aveline.

"Merrill," Aveline repeated. "And what kind of mage are you?"

"I'm a blood mage," she said plainly, and Hawke clapped a hand over his eyes, groaning. The quiet chatter that had rippled through the group ceased.

"Oh, my," Sebastian was heard to remark.

For once, Aveline was lost for words. "Erm…"

"She's a battle mage, same as Beth," Hawke offered through an exasperated sigh.

"Right…erm, well, Merrill and Bethany will flank the healers," Aveline directed. "Hawke and Anders, you stay in the middle. No moving away unless it's absolutely vital."

"Healers tend to work from the rear, Aveline," Hawke argued, and Anders nodded his agreement.

Aveline shook her head dismissively. "No. I want you two protected. If you can find a decent hiding spot when we get up there, then by all means take it. While we're out in the open, though, you'll stay in the middle. Any more questions?" she asked the group.

With no further questions forthcoming, everyone slowly moved into their positions. "We can keep the formation pretty loose until we get out of town," said Aveline, "but once we leave the city we'll need to tighten up. You all got that?"

Everyone answered or nodded in the affirmative, and Aveline moved to the head of the group with Donnic and Hunter, an experienced scout who carried a crossbow on his back, as well as a number of daggers.

As Fenris dropped back alongside Clara, his fellow guard, he found he was unable to take his eyes off Hawke. Clara was very chatty, which Fenris found highly irritating, but he answered all of her questions or statements with a polite nod or brief reply. It seemed that Hawke wasn't very talkative, either: the abomination was chatting to him animatedly, but Hawke only nodded occasionally, and didn't seem to engage in the conversation at all.

Fenris knew that once this day ended, if he was still alive, he would need to make apologies, perhaps several. All of these people had given up their own time to help him, and yet he'd barely spoken a word to any of them.

A numbness seemed to settled over him, which he embraced: he couldn't let guilt or regret interfere with what had to be done. When he looked at Hawke, however, the numbness dissolved, bile rose in his throat, and the heat and nausea returned in incapacitating waves. After a while, he made a conscious effort _not _to look at Hawke. _He_ was the chink in Fenris's armour: the one thing that would divert his focus.

Once Sebastian could get a word in edgeways around Clara, he engaged Fenris in conversation, which Fenris found a welcome diversion, and rather soothing in comparison to Clara's inane prattle.

When they reached the outskirts of the city, Aveline called a halt and ordered the group to tighten their formation.

"Just a minute, Aveline," Anders called from the centre of the group. "Before we get going again, I need to see to Hawke."

"All right, but make it quick," she called back.

Fenris's ears pricked up, and he strained to hear the conversation up ahead.

"Is he all right?" Bethany quietly asked Anders.

"He's got a migraine through lack of sleep," he answered, and placed his hands on the sides of Hawke's head.

Fenris moved slightly away from the group for a better look, and was dismayed at how pale Hawke had become. He felt his markings jump, and grimaced as Anders sent assuasive energy through Hawke, which translated as fire surging through Fenris's veins.

Noticing the elf's discomfort, Varric glanced at him and jerked his head upwards. With a grateful nod, Fenris assured Varric that he would be fine in a moment, and he once again turned his attention to Hawke and Anders, noting with repugnance that Anders was looking directly at Fenris, wearing what appeared to be a faint smile.

His spell complete, Anders looked back at Hawke and gently cradled his face, looking directly into his eyes. "Better, now?" he asked softly. Hawke nodded and patted Anders's arm before turning to face the front of the group. Anders once again glanced at Fenris before also turning away.

"The healers are ready, Aveline!" Anders announced cheerfully, unaware that a pair of cold green eyes were boring into the back of his head. Or, if he was aware, he didn't seem to care.

"Good," replied Aveline, looking over the rest of the group. "Let's keep our wits about us."

They made their way to the Dalish camp at the foot of Sundermount without incident, and were escorted to Keeper Marethari upon their arrival. Merrill noticeably squirmed as all eyes turned to her and her group.

"We're going up the mountain to take care of some slavers," Aveline told the Dalish leader. "If any of your people are up there, I'd recommend you call them back; there could be trouble."

"I appreciate your concern, Captain," Marethari said with a small bow. "None of my clan are up on the mountain at the moment, although I see that one of our own travels with you. Welcome home, Da'len."

Merrill stepped forward and dipped her head reverentially. "I-I'm not coming back, Keeper; I'm just helping out for a bit, that's all."

"Be that as it may, it gladdens my heart to see you again, and in such august company," answered Marethari kindly. "Please look after her," she said to Aveline, who nodded.

As the women talked, Fenris distanced himself from the group and looked up at the mountain, the summit of which was shrouded in mist. In his peripheral vision, he noticed Hawke's head turn in his direction, and lowered his eyes to the ground, his stomach knotting tightly as Hawke slowly approached him, stopping a short distance away.

"How…how do you feel, Fenris?" Hawke asked hesitantly.

Unable to speak at first, Fenris looked up at Hawke and swallowed hard. After everything Fenris had said to him, Hawke was still concerned for his wellbeing. His gut tightened further, twisting into a painful knot as he noticed Hawke's pallor and red-rimmed eyes.

"I-I am fine. You...should not have come. You are clearly unwell."

"I just didn't sleep very well," Hawke shrugged, toying with his hands.

"Because of me," Fenris stated, hanging his head. "Hawke…Fletcher…"

"Right, let's get going!" Aveline commanded loudly, having finished speaking with the keeper. "Back into your positions!"

"Come on, Hawke," Anders called over impatiently.

"I know you're scared, Fenris," Hawke said softly. "I'm with you, whatever happens. We all are. Never doubt that."

"Fle…" Fenris's voice broke before he could finish, and he watched as Hawke moved back into the centre of the group, no longer caring that Anders was still watching him. He took several deep breaths, each one fortifying him and hardening his resolve. Fletcher was with him. Fletcher _understood_. Suddenly, putting an end to Hadriana was no longer the only thing that mattered to him.

_Fletcher_ mattered to him, perhaps more than anyone or anything ever had.

~o~O~o~

The journey up the mountain was long and arduous, but they saw no one for most of their journey. If any bandits were lying in ambush, they didn't show themselves, perhaps intimidated by the size of the group. As they drew nearer to the summit, almost as one, the four mages called a halt.

"What is it?" Aveline demanded, striding over to them.

"There's a number of people spread out further up the path," Bethany told her.

"How do you know that?" Aveline enquired. "Hunter? Any tracks?" she asked her scout.

"No, Captain," he called back. "Nothing recent, anyway."

"We can feel them," Merrill explained. "It's hard to describe to someone who's, well, not a mage. We just know they're there."

Hawke took Aveline's arm and led her to one side. "I recommend you let us head up the group, Aveline."

"Oh, I don't know, Hawke; those robes of yours are no protection against a stray arrow."

"But we _know _where the sentries are, and we can put them out of action before they have a chance to even nock an arrow," he argued. "You lot can't see them; we _can_. And I didn't want to question you in front of the others, but I want Fenris moved from the back. He's too vulnerable there. They may attack us, but he's the one they're really after."

"I'm not happy about that, Hawke; this is a tried-and-tested formation. The armoured warriors take up the lead and rearguard positions…"

"Tried-and-tested doesn't apply here, Aveline," Hawke asserted. "They'll pick you off one by one and scarper with Fenris before you know what's happened! And they probably have mages out there, too, who know _we're _here: you _armoured warriors_ won't have time to blink. Issue the command, Aveline: don't make me embarrass you in front of your guards."

"You're a stubborn bugger, Hawke, you know that?"

"So I've been told."

"All right," she sighed. "You take over, then; you'll know the best position in which to deploy the mages."

"We'll be fine, Aveline. Come on." They walked back over to the group, where Aveline addressed them.

"Hawke is in charge from now on; you'll take your orders from him."

"Only until we reach the mountain pass, though," added Hawke with a smile at Aveline, which she returned. "Anders, you take the rear with Clara. Donnic and Merrill, right flank; Beth and Varric, left, and Fenris and Sebastian in the centre. Aveline, Hunter, you're with me. Fenris; may I speak with you for a moment?"

Fenris nodded once and walked over to Hawke, who led them around a bend in the path, out of sight of the others. "Fenris, I want Anders and I to cast a spell that will afford the group some protection. With me at the front and him at the rear, the sphere of the spells will overlap, meaning that everyone gets the benefit. It's not like most of the spells we usually cast; it's not cast upon one person in particular, so I'm hoping it won't cause you too much discomfort."

"There is no need to explain," Fenris said stoically. "I would not deprive our group of protection."

"I know, and I also know you can bear discomfort," Hawke answered, "but I want you to let me know if it causes _pain_. If it does, we can decrease the sphere so it doesn't touch you and Sebastian, but I'd rather you were protected, as well."

"I understand."

"Promise me."

"I promise, Fletcher."

A moment of silence passed between them and Fenris took a hesitant step closer to Hawke.

"…Apologising to you yet again would be facile," he began.

"Fenris, it's-"

"No, let me finish, please."

Hawke nodded, and Fenris removed his gauntlets, letting them fall to the ground, and tenderly cradled Hawke's face in his hands. "In spite of everything I've said to you, of everything I've put you through, you have always stood at my side. I know that I don't deserve you, but, for some reason, you came into my life, and, for that, I am grateful beyond words. I…I admire you, Fletcher. You inspire me and make me feel…you make me want to be a better person. I can think of no greater compliment to pay another."

Deeply touched, Hawke hung his head and drew in a deep breath. "I-I don't know what to say. I think that's possibly the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"There is more where that came from," Fenris said softly, "but it can wait for another time. I…wanted you to know. When we confront Hadriana, you may see a side of me that…well, you have not seen the worst of me, yet. Before you do, I wanted to tell you."

"I may not have seen the worst of you, but I _have _seen the best," Hawke murmured, bringing his hands up and clasping Fenris's. "And that's why…"

Fenris tilted his head to one side. "That's why…?"

"Perhaps that can also wait for another time," Hawke whispered, sliding his hands down Fenris's shoulders and back and pulling him close.

Without warning, Fenris's mouth was upon his, and he was pushed, hard, against the rock. Slim, taut, arms snaked around his neck and slender fingers tangled through his hair as hungry lips devoured his in a searing, greedy kiss. Up until now, Fenris's kisses had been soft, brief, and halting, but there was real hunger, real need, this time. A deep moan escaped from Hawke as Fenris pressed his body against him, and Hawke's hands balled, grabbing fistfuls of leather tunic, his breath coming out in gasps.

Then, another groan was heard, but it came from neither of them.

"I think they need a bit longer, folks," they heard Varric say, and they pulled apart, but could not see him. "They're discussing _tactics_," the dwarf added from around the other side of the rock.

"Hm. I sort of forgot that there are other people here," Hawke uttered.

"As did I," Fenris replied, and he gently smoothed down Hawke's hair before picking up his gauntlets and putting them on. "Perhaps we should return."

"We'll finish this later," said Hawke with a nod.

"Count on it," Fenris promised, and, with a sigh, they reluctantly joined the group on the other side of the rock.

"Come on, you two, we need to get going," Aveline urged.

"They _need_ to get a damned room, that's what they need," Varric remarked to Bethany, just loudly enough for the red-faced pair to hear.

Taking up their positions – Hawke at the head of the group and Fenris in the middle with Sebastian – Hawke called over to Anders, who stood at the rear, looking rather dour. "Ready, Anders?"

His fellow mage nodded once, and both of them raised their staves aloft, reciting their spell in unison. A pale blue mist burst forth from the ground, quickly dissipating, and everyone in the group felt their skin tingle, and strands of their hair stood on end. The spell complete, Hawke's eyes moved to Fenris, who, with a brief smile, assured Hawke that he was not in pain.

"Everyone ready?" asked Hawke.

"One moment," said Fenris, addressing the group. "I may not have said so earlier, but I want you all to know how grateful I am for your assistance. You did not have to do this, and you will reap no reward from it…"

"We'll know you're safe, Fenners," Donnic answered. "That's all we want out of this."

The rest of the group uttered their agreement, and Fenris smiled modestly, feeling his insides glow.

"Fenris," Hawke said firmly, and the elf looked at him. "Let's put this bitch in the ground."

With a determined nod from Fenris, the group resumed their trek up the mountain, the summit in sight.


	38. Chapter 38

Ever since Hawke and Anders had cast their protective spell over the group, Fenris had felt a vague throbbing running along the edges of his markings. It wasn't painful, exactly, but it _was _irritating. As Hawke led the group around yet another bend of the seemingly-interminable mountain path, the throbbing became more intense, and gradually segued into sharp stinging. With a glance to his left and right, he observed with dismay that Bethany and Merrill seemed to have entered a trance-like state, and, from his stiff, halting movements up ahead, it appeared that Hawke had done likewise. Fenris did not look back to check on the abomination.

Then, swiftly and silently, Hawke halted and held a hand up, and Fenris immediately felt his discomfort diminish. The rest of the group came to a stop behind Hawke, who pointed up and to his left, placing the index finger of his opposite hand against his lips.

"Got him, Hawke," Merrill muttered quietly, temporarily having left her trance. She closed her eyes, said a few words quietly under her breath, and Fenris felt his markings scream in protest for a second, before the pain subsided, giving way to throbbing. A moment later, a muffled crash was heard from up in the hills as a man fell, snoring, onto a spiky shrub, his bow dashed on the rocks below.

"Nice work," Donnic complimented her. "How long will he be out?"

"Ooh, bloomin' _ages_," Merrill boasted. "He won't wake up 'til it's dark, and I daresay he'll feel a bit _prickly _when he does," she tittered, proud of her joke.

Hawke gave Merrill a thumbs-up and the mages glanced around before resuming their slow trek up the trail. Fenris's markings again pulsated as his magi companions partially entered the Fade, using their altered states to detect the anima of any living creatures in the vicinity.

After a short while, Hawke called a halt again, and could be heard whispering to himself, as could Bethany. This time, the pain came sharp and fast along Fenris's markings, and he hissed and gritted his teeth, causing a concerned Sebastian to place a steadying hand on the elf's shoulder.

Two more sentries fell, and Fenris, freed from his pain, released a burst of breath.

"I'm going to tell Hawke," Sebastian whispered to him. Although Anders was behind them, and Sebastian knew he was a healer, the archer had his own reasons for preferring to speak to Hawke.

"No," Fenris insisted, grabbing Sebastian's arm to stop him. "No…I will be fine. Please."

"You're sure?"

Fenris forced a strained smile and nodded. Sebastian, although not entirely convinced of Fenris's assertion, released his shoulder but kept an eye on him as the trail became steeper.

A further three hidden sentries were incapacitated along the way, and, before long, the entrance to the mountain pass became visible up ahead. Hawke called another halt and turned to face the group.

"I want you all to be very careful from now on. We haven't encountered any-"

"Captain!" Hunter yelled, catching Aveline in the nick of time as her legs gave way.

"Fuck!" Hawke and Donnic shouted together as Bethany, Varric and Sebastian also crumpled to the ground.

"A mage?" exclaimed Fenris, looking up toward the mountain pass. "Why did none of you detect them?"

"Move them back! Fast!" Hawke commanded. He and Hunter quickly moved Aveline to a safe spot, while Donnic, Merrill and Clara ran over to assist Bethany and Varric. Fenris grabbed Sebastian under his arms and dragged him over to where Hawke and Hunter crouched over the unconscious Aveline, before running to help the others.

"Anders! Where are you going?" Hawke demanded angrily as the red-headed mage strode up the path without offering to help anyone. "_Anders_!"

Once Varric and Bethany were brought over, Hawke, after first checking them for injuries, attempted without success to dispel the sleep spell that had been put on them. Merrill stood a little away from the group, and Fenris could sense that she had once again entered the Fade.

"Hawke, I can't detect any mages nearby," said the Dalish mage. "They must be out of range."

"Out of range?" scoffed Fenris. "Then how did their spell reach them?" he demanded, pointing to their stricken companions.

"They must have just been caught in the sphere of the spell," Hawke explained with a grave glance at the others. "This is the work of a blood mage. That's why I can't dispel it, and, I think, why Anders has pissed off up the hill. Or Justice, I should say."

Merrill slipped a small knife out of her belt and knelt down next to Hawke. "I can dispel it, Hawke," she offered.

"No!" dictated Fenris vehemently. "You will not practise your foul arts, here!"

"Oh, and I suppose _you_ think we should just leave them here to be nibbled on by wolves, then, do you?" she bit back, heedless of Fenris's incensed glower.

"There _must_ be alternatives," Fenris insisted. "I do not think _Sebastian_ would appreciate being revived by a _demon_, do you?" he snarled.

"And_ I_ don't think he'd appreciate starving or freezing to death on a mountain, either! Do _you_?" Merrill retorted with surprising vigour.

"_I _would find that preferable," Fenris snapped. "Do not presume to know what _decent_ people would decide to do. _You_ and your kind are as far removed from _that_ as is possible to be."

Hawke almost flinched at Fenris's words, but kept his expression steady as they continued to argue.

"Well, remind me never to save _your_ life, then!" Merrill huffed.

"With blood magic? I would sooner perish in agony!"

"Noted," she sniffed disdainfully.

Hawke squeezed his eyes closed for a second, trying very hard not to think of the inevitable conversation he would have to have with Fenris, and released a sigh. "Let's see what Justice has to say, shall we? That is, if he _comes_ back. Bloody hell! Does he not realise that Anders's body is _vulnerable_? _He _may be an immortal Fade spirit, but Anders is human, and we need him!" He shook his head and took a deep breath, glancing down at his sister. "They're fine for now; they're just sleeping, but we need them awake. We can't just leave them here, and we can't take on Hadriana and her cronies without them, either. Where the bloody hell is he?"

"Wait," Merrill said, and, once again, Fenris felt his markings ache. "He's on his way," she told Hawke, who groaned in relief.

A few minutes later, Justice came stomping down the path and stopped a short distance away. "I have disabled two of their number, but more lurk within. Let us make haste," the spirit urged.

"Justice, can you help our friends?" asked Hawke. "They've been disabled by blood magic, and I can't reverse it."

An alarmed Hunter and Clara hastily made way for Justice, and, although Donnic had never before seen the spirit manifest itself, Fenris had told him about it, and he wasn't about to move from his captain's side. Fenris also stayed where he was, watching Justice carefully.

Justice squatted over the slumbering foursome and shook his head. "A crude technique," he opined, and held one of Anders's hands above them. A sharp gasp was heard from Fenris as Varric, Bethany, Aveline and Sebastian stirred, and Hawke rushed to his side.

"Fenris…oh, Fenris…" He placed a hand on the elf's shoulder, who held up his own hand to indicate that he was fine. "I'm so sorry," Hawke said quietly. "I've been so preoccupied with finding the sentries, it didn't even occur to me…you're surrounded by mages, all of whom are casting magic and slipping in and out of the Fade."

"I'm fine," Fenris asserted, vexed that he'd shown weakness in front of the group.

"No…you're not. How are you going to get on when we confront the other mages? Justice said there are more inside the mountain. With all of us casting at the same time…"

"I will manage," Fenris answered sharply, and then closed his eyes for a second, before opening them and looking at Hawke. "I will manage," he repeated in a softer tone. "I have awaited this day for three-and-a-half years, and I will _not_ quail, now."

"I know…I just hate the thought of you being in pain," Hawke said quietly.

The bridge of Fenris's nose twitched and a dark scowl befell his features. "Any pain I am experiencing now is but a trifle compared to what I, and others, have endured at the hands of that… _termagant_," he uttered malevolently. "And I will repay her ten times over before the day is done, I swear it."

Hawke nodded silently, keeping his dismay firmly in check while giving Fenris's shoulder a gentle squeeze, and then walked over to their four companions, who had started to sit up.

"Son of a bitch!" exclaimed Varric, clutching his head. "Sunshine? Are you okay?"

Bethany nodded blearily, and the foursome checked on each other before being helped to their feet by the others.

"You have rested sufficiently," Justice said to the group. "We must waste no more time."

"Justice," Hawke said firmly, walking over to the spirit in Anders's body. "We'll leave when _they're_ ready, and not before. They've just been knocked out cold."

"_They_ could be devising all manner of fiendish schemes while we tarry here!" Justice argued, pointing up at the mountain's summit.

"My friends are not immortal, and neither is Anders," argued Hawke. "Your help is invaluable, Justice, but _we _cannot just go charging in without a thought for our safety."

"You have no need to do so. I will protect all," Justice declared haughtily. "These evil-doers will submit and will be delivered into Templar custody. I will see to it."

"They are not simply going to surrender to us, Justice," Hawke argued, determined that Hadriana die at Fenris's hands.

"_All_ will face justice," the spirit insisted. "You will not interfere with jurisprudence, Hawke. I will not sanction it."

Hawke sighed inwardly, foreseeing a major problem ahead, but he nodded. "Fine. Just consider this: Fenris was badly wronged by the leader of these _evil-doers_. Should _he_ not be the one to impose justice upon her?"

"Justice _will _be done upon her. She will be incarcerated at the pleasure of the Templar Order," Justice asserted. "The elf does not hold her life in his hands."

"I disagree," Hawke stated emphatically. "She tortured and beat him, and caused him untold mental anguish and suffering. She deserves to die."

"That is not just!" argued the spirit.

"Maybe not, but is it _just_ that someone like her is allowed to roam free to inflict torment upon others?"

"She will not be free!" Justice took a step closer to Hawke and glared at him menacingly. "Mark my words, Hawke: do _not _interfere in my righteous endeavour." Justice turned away and moved to the front of the group. "Make ready," he commanded. Several members of the group exchanged bemused glances.

"Justice," Hawke called over. "Aveline is in charge, and you'll take your orders from her. Otherwise, we have no need of you."

"No," Justice retorted. "You will all decease without me."

"We'll _decease_ anyway, if everyone is confused over whom they're taking orders from! Now, fall into line, or wait here. As you said, Justice, there's no time to lose."

Only the rustling of the grass could be heard as the spirit and Hawke stared each other down. Justice slowly walked over to Hawke, and, for a moment, everybody in the group held their breath. Fenris quietly unsheathed his sword.

"You are valorous, Hawke," Justice told him. "That will serve you well. I will not, however, permit you, or any other, to commit an unjust act. Take heed." With that, Justice turned on his heel and stood beside Clara, who quickly widened the distance between them.

"Before we go any further, I should introduce you all to Justice," Hawke said for the benefit of those who had not yet encountered the spirit. "Justice is a spirit of the Fade who inhabits Anders's body. You have nothing to fear from him, provided you do not commit any act of injustice, as he has just so firmly reminded me. In fact, Clara, you're pretty much the safest of the lot of us with Justice at your side."

Clara looked up at Justice, who nodded curtly at her, while Hawke wondered how the hell Fenris was going to kill Hadriana if Justice disabled her before she could attack…and what would happen if he tried.

"Let's have a little change-around," Aveline announced. "Fenris, you'll drop to the rear with Hawke. Sebastian, Hunter and Varric, in front of them. Bethany, Merrill and Anders…I mean Justice, I want you behind me, Clara and Donnic. Let's go." She clapped her hands twice, and her companions moved into their new positions. "Fenris, a physical description of Hadriana, if you please."

A sour look came over the elf's face, and he practically spat his words out. "Tall. Thin. Long, dark brown hair. Huge blue eyes…like a bug. She paints her face and wears gaudy robes, but neither improves her appearance."

"Justice, did you hear that?" Aveline asked, and Justice, after a moment's pause, nodded once, slowly. "You are not to disable this woman. Instead, you will deal with any demons, blood magic or whatnot. That is your speciality, is it not?"

"You would have me _allow_ her to attack us?" Justice demanded.

"As you are so fond of…justice, Justice, I think it's only fair that Fenris pays her back for some of the suffering she inflicted on him, _before _she is turned over to the Templars, don't you?"

Hawke bit his lip to suppress a shit-eating grin. _Argue with that, then!_

Justice turned around and looked at the elf, who met his gaze with a perfectly blank expression.

"I have only your word that she inflicted suffering upon you, Elf; however, you have kept your word in the past," replied Justice. "Very well. That sounds fair. You will _not_ slay her, however, without just cause."

"I will not slay her without just cause," Fenris recited blandly.

Aveline and Hawke exchanged a brief but pregnant glance. "How many more of them are there, Varric?" she asked the dwarf.

"Seven, by my reckoning," he answered. "Our mages took out six sentries, and Justice, two of _their_ mages. There were originally fifteen of 'em."

Aveline nodded grimly. "Now _we _outnumber them."

"Do _not_ underestimate them," Fenris warned from the rear. "Or _her_. She is morally destitute, and her heart is black."

"We won't, Fenris," said Aveline. "Justice, how far inside are they?"

"They lie in wait a short distance within. It will not be long before we encounter them."

"Right, _that's_ specific," mumbled Aveline. "Well," she said in a louder voice. "Let's get this done."

She led them through the entrance to the mountain pass, and Justice dropped back, placing wards at the cave mouth, before returning to the head of the group. The mages each summoned a tiny wisp to light their path, which, in combination with Justice's own lambency, surrounded the group in an eerie, pallid nimbus. No one spoke as they ventured further in, and only quiet breathing and the occasional drip of stagnant water could be heard, unnaturally loud against the yawning silence within the cave.

Reaching a junction, Justice indicated that the group take the left-hand fork, and Hawke heard a distinct intake of breath from Fenris as Hawke slipped in and out of the Fade.

"They're nearby," Hawke whispered to him, returning to the here-and-now. He caught the reflection of pale light in the elf's eyes as they turned to him, and Fenris sidled closer, his eyes moving forward. "Listen," Hawke counselled. "When we're in there, wait for an opening. We have to get you access to her without Justice interfering. I know you'll feel like disembowelling her as soon as you see her, but you must _wait_."

Fenris nodded, sighed and hung his head. "Whatever you see in there," the elf began, so softly that Hawke had to stoop to hear, "whatever you think of me…it must be done. You may never regard me in the same way again, but…I have to do it."

"I know." Hawke also moved closer to Fenris, his fingers brushing against the elf's hand. "Nothing is going to change the fact…nothing will change my opinion of you, Fenris. Do what you have to do. I won't judge you."

"Thank you," Fenris whispered, suddenly feeling bereft. For once, Hawke's words offered him no comfort, no hope: he knew, when this was done, that he may be dead or back in Danarius's clutches, or that Hawke would be dead; or, were they both to survive, that Hawke would see what he really was and would finally turn his back on him. Whatever happened, Fenris saw only blackness in his future, but, so long as _she_ was dead, he would embrace that blackness with the same fervour he had embraced Hawke with not so long ago. For if Hawke died defending him, Fenris would deserve no less.

Allowing his hand to brush against Hawke's one last time, he swallowed down the lump in his throat and unsheathed his sword, hearing the others ahead do the same. Staves were readied, and arrows and bolts nocked.

Following Justice and Aveline, they rounded a corner and found themselves in a large, well-lit chamber. At one end stood five mages, flanked by two bodyguards. None of the seven seemed concerned at the group's arrival, and they waited patiently for Aveline and her companions to enter, making no hostile moves.

As soon as Hawke and Fenris entered, a female mage at the centre of the group who matched Fenris's description of Hadriana, raised her arms, one of which was bleeding from a fresh wound, and the entrance to the chamber crackled and fizzed with dark energy.

"Witch," barked Justice. "By using your corrupt and loathsome powers to bar our exit, you have only served to fashion your own gaol."

Hawke ventured a glance to his left, and noticed that Fenris fairly trembled with pent-up rage, his eyes drilling into the female magister. Hawke's eyes then flitted to where their enemies stood, narrowing as he spotted several sigils of red light on the ground in front of them.

"Fenris," he whispered. "_Wait_ for an opening."

A throaty, mocking laugh echoed around the chamber. "You're a wordy one, aren't you?" Hadriana said to Justice, and looked to the end of the chamber. "_Hello_, Fenris!" she chirped, waving a hand, as though greeting an old friend.

Fenris's upper lip curled in a silent snarl, and Hawke laid a firm hand across his chest, pushing him back a little. "As much as we'd love to exchange pleasantries with a bug-eyed slagall day, we'd _much_ rather see Fenris crush your throat," Hawke called over. Justice's head turned quickly in his direction, but he ignored the spirit's chastising glare.

Hadriana cocked her head and glanced at her fellow mages, who all laughed. "So, _you're_ his latest beau, are you?" she mocked with a twisted smile. "Poor Danarius will be _devastated_. His bed is so cold and empty without you, Fenris."

Several quiet gasps were heard from Aveline's group, and Sebastian and Donnic exchanged a hard glance as cold realisation dawned on them. No longer able to contain his wrath, Fenris launched himself forward with a guttural cry, only to be grabbed by both Hawke and Justice.

"Cease your ingression, Elf!" Justice commanded as Hadriana's laughter reverberated around the chamber.

"Release me!" roared Fenris, his fury imbuing him with extraordinary strength.

"She's placed wards on the ground!" Hawke protested plaintively as he struggled to hold Fenris. "There's no telling what they'll do! We need time to dispel them!"

"Wards?" asked Bethany, frowning at the ground. "I can't see any wards."

"_I _can," Merrill uttered with a knowing glance at Hawke.

"Please, Fenris!" Hawke implored, grabbing him by the shoulders as Justice released the elf from his grip. "You _will _have your chance, I swear it," he whispered to the elf, who ceased struggling and stood, panting, in front of Hawke. Justice walked over where the wards had been placed, and carefully examined them.

"Don't rise to her," Hawke urged, his eyes wandering over to the spirit. He lowered his voice so that Justice could not hear. "That's what she wants. Please, Fenris, we need to outsmart her. Then, she's all yours, I swear it."

Fenris gave no answer, but stared at Hawke's chest, his own chest rising and falling rapidly. Hawke ran a hand up and down Fenris's arm, comforting himself as much as the elf. From the corner of his eye he could see that Merrill was still watching him, and silently prayed that he hadn't just given himself away.

"How _touching_," Hadriana mocked, pretending to wipe a tear from her eye. "Well, now that the standard insults are out of the way, let us parley."

"We will not parley with a demon's puppet," Justice answered resolutely. "Your words have as little substance as your attempts to outwit us."

"You are rather arrogant for one who is trapped in here," Hadriana replied, pointing behind herself. What had previously appeared to be part of the wall flickered and shimmered in front of their eyes, revealing a doorway. "I believe_ I_ have the upper hand."

While this conversation had been going on, Varric, Sebastian and Hunter had all exchanged discreet nods, and held their weapons ready. Communicating with their eyes and barely discernible hand gestures, the three archers, with lightning speed, let fly their arrows as one, vociferating in alarm and frustration as the projectiles burst into flames and disintegrated before they reached Hadriana and her accomplices.

Hadriana rolled her eyes and tapped her foot. "_Please _don't do that again," she said in a bored tone, her eyes darting over to Fenris. The elf gasped in pain and dropped to his knees, howling and clutching his head, his markings flickering violently. "Danarius would be rather cross if I brought his pet home damaged."

"Stop it!" Hawke cried out in panic, kneeling down next to Fenris.

"Don't _touch _me!" wailed Fenris, swatting Hawke's hands away, his markings reacting even more strongly than usual to Hawke's mana field. Hawke immediately withdrew his hands but remained at the elf's side as he was slowly released from Hadriana's crippling spell.

"You'll die for that, bitch!" Hawke bellowed at the magister. His eyes moved over to Justice, and he was surprised that this time the spirit didn't react to his threat; instead, Justice seemed preoccupied with the magical sigils.

"Now that we understand each other," Hadriana said smugly, "here is what you are going to do. You will release Fenris to me, and I will allow you all to live. Is that not a fair deal?"

"We will not listen to your lies, harridan!" Sebastian exclaimed angrily.

"If you think we'll release him to you, you're badly mistaken," seethed Donnic. "And, if you think we believe you'll just allow us to go merrily on our way, then you're as stupid as you are pig-ugly."

"Hey, Justice," Varric muttered to the spirit. "How's progress on those ward thingamajigs? Justice? _Hey_!"

To Varric's consternation, Justice gave no reply, and appeared to have entered a similar trance-like state as the one he'd seen in Bethany earlier. Deciding not to call attention to it, he glanced over at Hawke, who slowly rose to his feet along with Fenris while Sebastian and Donnic traded insults with Hadriana.

As Fenris rose to his full height, his markings pulsed and he sensed that one of the mages had again entered the Fade. He quickly glanced at Hawke, whose eyes were rolling in his head, and he grabbed the mage's arms to keep him steady.

"_Anders?"_

_Hawke's eyes blinked open, and he found himself standing in a colourless place with no walls or ceiling that stretched infinitely in all directions. His friend stood before him._

"_I don't have much time," Anders said quickly. "Justice knows how to dispel the wards; he needs a few seconds to do it, though. You need to create a distraction, something that will divert Hadriana's attention. All of her energies are being put into those defences of hers. Distract her, and they'll waver, leaving her vulnerable for a short time. Watch her, though, Hawke; she's not stupid."_

"_A distraction? Like what?" Hawke demanded._

The image of Anders melted away and the chamber slowly bled back into his reality. From a long way off, he could hear Fenris calling his name. Suddenly, the elf's voice was loud, strident, and blood rushed through Hawke's ears.

"Hawke? _Hawke_? Speak to me!" Fenris's hands were digging into Hawke's shoulders as he came to.

Hawke blinked and gaped as Fenris's anxious face came into focus. "Fenris…it's…okay. I'm fine."

Fenris exhaled and relaxed his grip slightly. Hawke turned to face Justice, who had also come to. Hawke nodded at the spirit, who nodded back, and Hawke's eyes darted around the chamber, looking for anything he could use as a distraction.

Finding nothing of use, he left Fenris's side for a moment and moved directly behind Varric. "We need a diversion," he whispered to the dwarf while Justice vainly entreated the blood mages to surrender. Varric nodded almost imperceptibly and sidled over to Sebastian. After a very brief discussion, Sebastian moved over to Hunter while Hawke returned to Fenris's side.

"Fenris, those three are going to distract Hadriana, which will give Justice time to remove the wards. You might have a few seconds, at best, to get to her. Justice has instructions not to touch Hadriana so we'll throw everything we can at her, which will hopefully stop her casting on you. There's going to be a _lot _of casting going on, Fenris; will you be all right?"

Fenris nodded, his eyes fixed ahead, feeling detached from his surroundings. Hawke sounded so confident, so assured of their victory, but Fenris could feel the spectre of death at his back. It didn't matter. So long as he took _her_ with him. That was all he cared about.

"I'm with you, Fenris."

He nodded again, unable to look Hawke in the eye. If he did, he would be reminded of what else he cared about and he couldn't afford to do that. Not now. He was so close he could almost smell the coppery tang of her blood.

"Well, it seems we are at an impasse," Hadriana announced, bringing Hawke back to grim reality. To his side, he noticed brief nods pass between the three rogues and he steeled himself. "Perhaps I need to be a little more persuasive?" Hadriana questioned, producing a small blade and looking at Hawke's group.

"Hey, nice ass for an evil blood-witch, or whatever the hell you're supposed to be."

"What?" Hadriana spun round, finding a grinning facsimile of Varric standing behind her. "How did you…?" She fired a disabling spell at the image of the dwarf and exclaimed in frustration when it disappeared before her eyes.

"Magister Hadriana!" one of her lackeys cried in panic. She wheeled round to find that Sebastian and Hunter had crossed her wards and stood before her, taking direct aim at her bodyguards who froze, signalling their surrender.

"You bloody fools!" she screeched. "It's a trick!" she stepped forward and struck the double of Sebastian, which faded into nothing at her touch. Fenris felt his markings resonate as the blood-powered sigils waned and guttered courtesy of Justice. With a glance ahead, he noticed that the real Varric, Hunter and Sebastian were nowhere to be seen.

"I offered you all a fair deal, and you repay me with chicanery!" spluttered a clearly-unnerved Hadriana, and she plunged her knife into her arm, grimacing and panting as she twisted the blade. "Lillith, heed my call!"

Recognising the name, Fenris readied his sword, his eyes flashing angrily. "Yes, Hadriana: call upon your _demon_ when your wits have deserted you! Have you no courage?" he taunted.

"Kill them!" ordered Hadriana, who backed away towards the door to her rear. Her underlings immediately inflicted wounds upon themselves, preparing to cast. With the wards now dispelled by Justice, Donnic wasted no time and tackled one of the armoured bodyguards to the ground, while Aveline and Clara engaged the other, Hawke imbuing all three of them with protective magic.

"Don't fight anyone!" Hawke ordered Fenris. "Watch for an opening!" The elf, while eager to help his companions, saw the wisdom of Hawke's words and waited, although he remained vigilant in the event that anyone needed his help.

Donnic and Aveline, with Bethany and Merrill's help, vanquished the bodyguards, while, to Hadriana's left, two of her flunkeys were paralysed by Justice before they'd had a chance to cast. Of the other two, one attempted to undo Justice's magic while the other, under Hadriana's whispered directions, sent a blast of red energy slamming into Hawke's chest, forcing him against the rear wall, and he slid down to the ground, gasping.

"Hawke!" Fenris yelled, racing to his side.

"No, Fenris!" croaked Hawke, his breathing irregular and harsh. "You have to…watch…" His eyes flickered closed and Fenris's face became contorted with murderous rage. His head snapped around to see two of Hadriana's lackeys fall, their throats cut from behind by Sebastian and Hunter, who had emerged from stealth. A further one was knocked off her feet by a blow from Clara's shield, and finished off with a bolt between the eyes from a stealthed Varric.

"Lillith!" screamed Hadriana, a shrill note of panic in her voice.

"Oh, I'm sorry, darling. I was busy," a languorous, disembodied voice spoke.

All eyes turned to the scantily-clad figure that appeared from nowhere in one corner of the chamber. "Want me to take care of these…annoyances?" Lillith purred.

"Yes, but don't harm Fenris!" ordered Hadriana.

"And what's in it for me?" asked the demon, running a talon down the side of one of her breasts.

Hadriana pushed her remaining accomplice forward. "Take her!"

Lillith cocked her head as she appraised the startled blood mage. "I suppose she'll do," she murmured, and, with a flick of her hand, the betrayed lackey crumpled to the ground.

Justice, who so far had observed the fight for any signs of unjust acts, placed himself between the demon and his companions. "You will not harm them," he said.

Hadriana, emboldened by the presence of her demon, once again cut into her arm, preparing a spell, while Justice was distracted.

"Get her!" cried Bethany. "But don't kill her! Save her for Fenris!"

A clamour broke out in the chamber as several things happened at once. Justice engaged the demon while Bethany, Merrill, Hunter and Sebastian threw everything they had at Hadriana, who had erected a protective forcefield around herself. Fenris, who still knelt at Hawke's side, didn't take his eyes off the magister for a second, even as Donnic arrived next to him.

"How is he, Fenris?" asked the concerned guard, for once not using Fenris's nickname.

"I do not know what was done to him," Fenris answered thickly. "He yet lives, but who knows what foul magic has been used upon him?" He grimaced in pain as Lillith was slammed against a wall by a powerful spell of Justice's.

"He's a strong 'un, Fenris," replied Donnic. "This will all be over, soon. Hadriana can't win."

"Fen," Hawke whispered, struggling to open his eyes. "I-I'm fine. Donnic's right. You have to finish this." Hawke reached for Fenris's hand and squeezed it. Fenris squeezed it back and pushed himself to his feet, his resolve hardening.

Her forcefield waning, Hadriana, in desperation, inflicted another grievous wound to herself, although she could feel her physical strength ebbing away from blood loss. Relentlessly, her aggressors pressed home their assault, and, once again, Hadriana sensed her forcefield losing its power.

"No!" she cried.

"The forcefield's down!" Merrill called triumphantly.

Hadriana's trembling hand brought her dagger up again, but, before she could cut herself, a bolt from Bianca slammed into her arm, and the knife fell from her hands as she sank to her knees, hastily grabbing it. Immediately, Aveline ran forward and placed her sword at the magister's throat.

"Lillith! Help me!" gasped Hadriana.

"Your demon is in no position to help you now," Justice boomed, stepping away from the broken body of Lillith.

With a piteous wail, Hadriana collapsed onto all fours. "Fenris…I never meant it to happen like this, I swear," she pleaded in a pathetic attempt to save her own hide. "Danarius forced me…I-I didn't want to c-"

Her words were rudely cut off as a gauntleted hand closed around her throat and she was lifted clean off the ground. "Ack! F-Fe…"

"Does it _hurt_?" Fenris snarled, bringing his other hand around the magister's throat.

"Have a care, Elf," warned Justice. "You will not slay her; she is unarmed."

"She tried to kill us all!" Aveline argued hotly.

"No; she ordered her subordinates to kill us. She made no such move," Justice countered.

"It's the same bloody thing, and you know it!" Donnic exclaimed, who, having helped Hawke to his feet, slowly walked forward with his arm around the mage's waist. Hawke clutched at his belly, gritting his teeth, but used all of his strength to stand, wanting to see Fenris have his revenge.

As Fenris's grip on Hadriana tightened, she began to choke.

"I asked you a question!" Fenris growled. "I _said_, does it hurt?"

Hadriana could only gurgle in reply.

"What is going through your mind, now, I wonder?" Fenris, his tone deadly, asked Hadriana, who was turning blue from the relentless pressure. "Do you now regret the times you would wake me with magic, leaving me in agony for hours? Or perhaps you rue each and every insult, each and every time you spat in my face, beat me, beat the children, spoiled our food, then went simpering to your master for a pat on the head like a dog? Do you regret that now?"

Hadriana, who had by now passed out, could not answer.

Fenris's markings vibrated as gentle energy flowed from Hawke's direction into the magister. Revived, her eyes shot open and she choked again, her fists weakly pounding the elf as Fenris's thumb pushed against her windpipe. Out of Fenris's sight, Hawke's legs buckled, his strength failing him, and Donnic helped him to sit on the ground, squatting next to him.

"We _could_ keep you alive like this indefinitely," Fenris rasped with a malicious smile. "I could have _you _as _my _slave, a plaything to be tortured when _my_ sense of failure demands it, just as _I _once was to _you_!" His skin became illuminated with a blue tint and his markings blazed fiercely.

Sebastian took a step forward. "Fenris, please…" he urged gently. "You're a good man and I know you will derive no pleasure from this course of action."

"Release her," Justice commanded. "She has been sufficiently punished."

Fenris's posture slumped and he lowered Hadriana slightly. For a moment, his companions thought he would relent, but Hawke and Donnic exchanged a quick glance, knowing better.

Fenris brought his mouth to Hadriana's ear. "Await your master in the Void, bitch."

With a sickening snap, Hadriana's head twisted at an odd angle, and she was cast to the ground like so much detritus.

"That female was unarmed and defenceless!" bellowed Justice, charging forward. "You murdered her in cold blood! You will pay the price!"

"No!" several people cried out, and Aveline, Merrill, Bethany and Sebastian all piled into Justice, straining to hold him back.

"Unhand me!" the spirit commanded. "I _will_ have justice!"

Fenris slowly bent down and reached for one of Hadriana's hands, uncurling her fingers. Her palm, which was freshly cut, held a small dagger. Fenris looked up at Justice.

"She was _never_ defenceless, Spirit."

The companions who held Justice back looked at him hopefully, relaxing their grip slightly as doubt crossed his face. After a fraught moment, the spirit nodded silently, and the companions cautiously released him.

Fenris stood up and looked down upon the magister's body, saying no more. An uncomfortable silence filled the chamber, and no one was certain of what to do or say.

"Help me up," Hawke said to Donnic, who slung his arm around Hawke and slowly pulled him to his feet. With a nod to Donnic, who then released him, Hawke walked with difficulty over to Fenris and stopped a short distance away.

"Fen…let's go back," he whispered, lightly touching the elf's hand, his insides stinging when it was pushed away.

Fenris was alive. Hawke was alive. The people that had selflessly risked themselves to help Fenris were unharmed. Hadriana was dead, finally.

Where, then, was the relief, the sense of triumph? Why hadn't Hadriana's death made everything better? Why did Fenris still feel empty, disconnected, disquieted? Was Hawke's sympathy and care genuine, or was he secretly revolted at Fenris's actions?

"Leave me be," Fenris said quietly. "I do not…I need to be alone."

Aveline beckoned Clara, Hunter and Donnic towards the front exit and quietly instructed them to start gathering the bodies for burning.

Anders, whose senses had been returned to him, walked over to Hawke and clutched his arm. "He _said_ he wants to be alone, Hawke. Let's go. Some of us need healing after _fighting _for him, after all."

"A-are you sure, Fenris?" Hawke asked shakily.

With a silent nod, Fenris turned and walked towards the rear entrance.

"Where are you going to go?" asked Hawke, but Fenris continued without answering.

"Well, _that's_ gratitude for you!" Anders huffed.

"Don't, Anders, please," Hawke implored quietly.

"Oh, I-I'm sorry," Anders replied, wrapping an arm around Hawke's shoulders. "Come on. You need to get some rest."

He guided the dazed Hawke towards the front exit, followed by Bethany, Varric and Merrill. Before they left, Sebastian approached Hawke, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"I'll make sure he's safe, Hawke," he promised.

"Thank you," Hawke replied shakily, before being guided out by Anders.

Sebastian watched them leave, and became aware that Donnic had moved to his side.

"You saw it, too, didn't you?" asked the guard gruffly.

"Saw what?" Sebastian asked, confused.

"When we were outside. You saw the look that Anders gave Fenris while he was healing Hawke. You heard him just now. You're thinking exactly the same as I am."

Sebastian's brow furrowed, and he turned to face Donnic. "Which is?"

"That mage has got it on for Fenris, and he's manipulating Hawke. Don't deny it, Sebastian."

Sebastian sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Perhaps we're misjudging him. Maybe he's just being protective towards Hawke."

"Your chantry schooling may make you see the good in everyone, Sebastian, but I was educated at the school of life, and I know when someone's up to no good," Donnic answered firmly.

"I can't really say," answered Sebastian. "I don't know Anders well enough."

"Well, neither do I," said Donnic, "but I have a month's stint to do in Darktown, and I think I'm going to make an effort to get to know him a little better, see what he's about."

"If you feel that's best," answered Sebastian with a glance to the rear exit. "I should check on Fenris."

"I would go with you, but I wouldn't want him to feel crowded," Donnic said quietly, shaking his head. "I have a feeling he'll be all right with you." He held out his hand to Sebastian. "We'll still be here when you get back."

Sebastian nodded, shook Donnic's hand, and left the guards to their work as he slipped out of the rear exit.


	39. Chapter 39

_I'd like to thank all of you for following this story, and to wish you all a very happy Christmas! A special shout-out to Dom, who has been wonderfully supportive throughout and to Mary, beta and friend extraordinaire._

~o~O~o~

Anders and Hawke had not gone far through the caves when Hawke suddenly halted, his body stiffening, and he grabbed the hand that Anders had draped around his shoulder.

"What is it?" whispered Anders, aware that Bethany was not far behind them.

"Feel…think…gon' be…" before another word came out, Hawke bent forward, clutching his stomach hard, and spilled its contents onto the ground.

"All right, Hawke, easy…easy," soothed Anders, rubbing Hawke's shoulder as the others quickly caught up to them.

"Brother, are you all right?" Bethany asked with concern, arriving next to him. Hawke, still bent double, glanced up at Anders, a plaintive look in his eyes, and he screwed his face up, gritting his teeth to hold in an agonised wail.

"He'll be fine in a minute," Anders told them all calmly, a shiver travelling down his body as his eyes moved to the chunky puddle on the ground next to them.

"Right, I need you all to _back off_ and give him some air," Anders said to the others, his tone sharper than he'd intended. Hoping his panic wasn't apparent, he began to assist Hawke to sit on the ground, keeping the rose-coloured vomit out of sight of the others. "Everyone back off, _please_," he repeated.

Although concerned and wanting to see what was going on, Bethany, Varric and Merrill duly complied. Anders's eyes locked with Varric's, quickly flitting over to Bethany and then back to the dwarf.

Understanding, Varric took Bethany's arm and steered her away from the two mages. "Let's leave Blondie to his work, huh, Sunshine?"

"No," she replied, shrugging away his proffered hand. "I'm staying."

"What's the matter with him, Anders?" Merrill asked anxiously.

Moving the now-trembling, puce-coloured Hawke into a lying position, Anders again looked up at the other three. He didn't yet know what was wrong with Hawke, except that it was serious, and didn't want Bethany to see her brother suffer, or worse. "I need _quiet_," he said in a firmer tone. "All of you, out, _now_. Please."

"Let's do as the man says," Varric said in an equally firm voice as Anders quickly rolled up his sleeves and loosened the ties of Hawke's robe. Nodding blankly, Bethany allowed herself to be led away, and Merrill, with a fearful glance at Hawke, followed them.

"M-Maker…" Hawke gasped as soon as they'd departed. "What's w-wrong? I-I can't c-c…concen…can't examine…agh! Anders…it hurts!"

"I think you're bleeding internally," Anders told him, yanking up Hawke's undershirt to reveal his bare chest and abdomen. "Bastard blood mages! No simple freezing or burning for them! Oh no, they have to shred your insides!"

"Hey…watch w-who you're c-calling a bast…" Hawke joked weakly, before he gasped and gnashed his teeth.

"_You_ know what I mean," tutted Anders. "Try to stay still." He laid one hand on Hawke's abdomen, and the other lower down towards his groin, and closed his eyes.

"W-where's…F-f-f…?"

"He's around somewhere," Anders answered shortly, fearing that voicing his true feelings about Fenris's absence might disrupt his concentration.

Anders applied gentle pressure to Hawke's abdomen, and Hawke grabbed Anders's arm hard enough to make the other man flinch, yelling as he felt something akin to molten lead being poured into his stomach.

"Sorry, mate," Anders mumbled.

Panting, Hawke loosened his grip as the sensation eased before his arm fell limply to his side. "Did he come back?" he implored. "Is he…is he all right?"

"He was fine when I last saw him," answered Anders truthfully, removing his hands from Hawke's belly. "It's your stomach, Hawke. I need to act fast: I'm going to put you to sleep."

"Please," beseeched Hawke, grabbing Anders's arm again. "Make sure he's all right. You and he c-could be friends if you tried. And Beth…_Beth_…please, Anders. Look after…them…if…oh, Maker!" he howled, his neck cording as shards of fire stabbed into his stomach. "And…M-mother…_please_, Ande…"

Hawke's eyes closed and his breathing settled into a regular, if shallow, pattern as Anders completed his sleep spell. Anders shook his head and looked down at his friend.

"You deserve better than him, Hawke." With a frustrated sigh, he once again placed his hands on Hawke's abdomen and concentrated.

~o~O~o~

It took Sebastian a while to find Fenris, as clearly, the elf had not _wanted_ to be found. Using a combination of his wits and his limited tracking skills, however, he soon spied the unmistakable shock of white hair from behind a shrub, and, as he neared, he saw that the elf was sitting on the ground, his legs dangling over the edge of a rocky overhang.

Not wanting to startle him, Sebastian halted a short distance away and leaned against a large rock. Soon, though, Fenris became aware of the faint sounds of someone else breathing, and slowly turned his head in Sebastian's direction.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Sebastian remarked, looking out across the ocean.

With a quiet sigh, Fenris began to push himself to his feet.

"No, please," Sebastian said quickly, gesturing for Fenris to sit back down. With another sigh, he did so, and, for a few minutes, neither man spoke until Fenris broke the silence.

"Why are you here? I said I wished to be alone." There was no accusation in Fenris's voice, only curiosity.

"Aye, you did," agreed Sebastian, "and, if that's what you _really_ want, I'd be happy to leave. I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

Another silence followed, and eventually Sebastian turned toward the mountain path.

Hearing the departing thud of boots against rock, Fenris turned his head slightly. "Sebastian-"

Sebastian paused and faced the elf. "Yes, Fenris?"

"As you are already here…" Fenris said in a whisper that was almost lost in the winds that whipped around the mountain top, "...you might as well stay."

"You're sure?"

Fenris nodded but remained silent. Sebastian took a few steps nearer, stopping a discreet distance away, allowing the elf his space.

"Talk to me, Fenris," urged the archer softly. "Tell me what troubles you so."

"What _troubles _me?" A quiet snort was heard from Fenris, and he turned his gaze back to the sea. "Why are you even here? You advised me not to kill her, and yet I did."

"I advised that for _your _sake, Fenris; _not _hers."

"_My _sake?" Fenris turned around and looked directly at Sebastian, his voice quiet and uncertain. "It was for _my _sake that I killed her."

"Yet you don't seem content."

Fenris turned away again, and, for several moments, did not speak. "I thought…" He sighed, and Sebastian stepped closer.

"May I sit with you?" asked the archer.

After another pause, Fenris nodded slightly, and, once he'd placed his bow and quiver on the ground, Sebastian sat next to him, bringing his own legs over the edge of the overhang. He looked vaguely in Fenris's direction, and waited for him to continue.

"When Hawke told me that Hadriana was here, I was furious with him for keeping it from me." He looked directly at Sebastian for a moment before his eyes moved to his lap. "All I could see was that the chance to finally put an end to her may have slipped through my fingers. And then, when Hawke resolved to stand with me…" He once again looked at Sebastian. "And you, and the others…I felt…I was…afraid. Afraid that one of you would be killed, and that she would succeed in capturing me. So, when I held her by the throat and knew that her seconds were numbered, and that my friends were now safe, I believed that ending her life would be a release…a catharsis." He shook his head. "I should have felt…relieved."

"But you didn't," Sebastian ventured.

"No…I did not." Fenris drew a slow breath and looked back out to sea. "When I felt her life leave her, when I looked down upon her body...I felt…_nothing_. Which is worse, Sebastian? One who takes pleasure in killing and feels satisfaction from it? Or one who kills remorselessly, feeling nothing during the act, or afterwards?"

"Do you truly feel nothing, Fenris?" asked Sebastian gently. "I find that difficult to believe."

"It's still there," Fenris said, and Sebastian frowned, unsure of his meaning. "It's like a dark growth inside me. As time has gone on, it has increased in size and consumes more of me with each day that passes. I thought killing her would…" He brought both of his knees up and tucked them under his chin. "Recently, for the first time since my escape, I believed that I could start a new life, that I could…be happy," he said with a shrug. "…With Hawke. He believes in me more than _anyone _ever has. He cares for me…and I…I care for him. Deeply," he finished in a whisper.

"This incident should pose no obstacle to that new life of yours."

"Shouldn't it?" Fenris challenged, his voice acquiring a brittle edge. "If anything, this _incident _has only served as a reminder of what I am."

"And what is that?" asked Sebastian.

"A man who can kill with neither pity nor regret…without feelings of any kind. I don't even feel satisfied that she's dead. My _master _taught me well, Sebastian: I am ruthless, jaded and without remorse. Hawke has seen the truth of it, now; I would not blame him for turning his back on me."

"What utter nonsense," Sebastian said with conviction. "I've never heard such bunkum in my life. Hawke, if you recall, was the one who vowed to find Danarius: it was because of that search that Hadriana was found. Do you think Hawke expected you to shake hands with her and call it even? No! He _expected_ you to kill her. As did I. Not only did she keep others in bondage and treat them cruelly, she consorted with a demon and became crazed with the power that demon offered. She _earned _her death."

"I would not argue with that," Fenris replied. "I…just thought that her death would bring a sense of accomplishment, of…I had hoped that, with her dead, I would be able to…move on? If only in part. But…I feel no different. I am beginning to wonder what it will take to expunge this-this blackness I have inside of me. How can I ever live a normal life – how can I give Hawke what he wants – when I am consumed by it?" His shoulders slumped and he released a long breath. "I feel it, Sebastian. It eats away at me, day and night. It drove me to put an end to Hadriana, but now she is gone…"

Fenris pushed himself to his feet and turned his back on Sebastian. "Hawke…he has given me so much, and I have repaid him by venting my anger and frustration upon him. He does not deserve that. I know that he would have me in his life, and I, too, want nothing more. But how can I _be _with someone, how can I make them content, when _I _am not content? I will only end up hurting him, or driving him away."

"Fenris," Sebastian began, and also stood up, moving over to the elf.

"There is something else," Fenris said unsteadily. "When Hawke was treating my foot, he did not use any magic, knowing that it causes me pain. Sometimes…" He faced Sebastian with sadness in his eyes. "…Sometimes, I almost forget what he is. When we confronted Hadriana, however, he used his powers many times. I felt pain, which made me…angry. It was not his fault, but it reminded me of what he is. I once again saw him as a _mage_; one who is as susceptible to demonic influence and corruption as was Hadriana."

"You cannot seriously compare Hawke to Hadriana," Sebastian argued.

"I would not," answered Fenris. "_She _dedicated her life to the suffering and torment of others, while he dedicates his to the _alleviation_ of suffering. And yet, they are of a kind. I-I cannot think straight." Fenris's shoulders sagged and he cast his eyes to the ground. "I am ashamed. It is wrong of me to even speak of them in the same breath, yet I cannot help it."

"Fenris…" Sebastian moved next to the elf, and they both looked out over the sea. "Seeing Hadriana again must have brought back some terrible memories for you, and caused some very dark emotions to surface. If I may venture, I think this _incident _has affected you far more deeply than you realise. Your confusion and ambivalence are a normal reaction to what must have been a very traumatic and disturbing experience for you. You have been reminded of your old life, of how you used to feel about yourself, of your former role. _That _is not the life you have now; it is long dead, but its ghost lingers."

Sebastian gently placed a hand on Fenris's shoulder. "Listen, my friend. Give yourself some time. It's only natural for you to feel uncertain after what has happened. But don't dwell on it for too long. Do not let the past interfere with your future; with your and _Hawke's _future."

Fenris continued to gaze out to sea while Sebastian picked up his bow and quiver and slung them across his back. "Let us return to the others, now, Fenris; they'll be concerned about you."

"Yes. I suppose I must face them eventually," Fenris murmured through a sigh, turning and heading up the slope with Sebastian.

"They'll be glad to see you," said the archer. "I would imagine that Hawke in particular will welcome your company, being unwell as he is," he added, hoping to draw Fenris's attention back to the present.

"Unwell?" Fenris stopped dead and stared, aghast, at Sebastian.

"Well, yes, Fenris; he was injured by the blood mage's spell."

"But…he recovered from that," Fenris said sharply. "He-he was standing…he came over to me…he cast magic upon Hadriana." His eyes darted from side to side, his breathing quickening, and his heart pounding as anxiety gripped him.

Sebastian shook his head sadly. "He stood to see you defeat her, but then his strength failed him. When I last saw him, he appeared…quite ill. Anders was supporting him as they left. I'm sorry."

Fenris stared at Sebastian, his eyes wide and panic etched on his face. "I did not know…I was so…all I cared about was Hadriana…" He quickly turned and hurried up the path, saying no more, with Sebastian following close behind.

~o~O~o~

Having stabilised Hawke, Anders made him as comfortable as possible on the cave floor, removed all traces of vomit, and called the others back in. Hunter and Donnic, who had finished gathering the bodies, were sent out to find tree branches and foliage, as Anders wanted to light several fires to warm the cave, deeming Hawke too ill to be moved that night.

With a deep sigh that did nothing to quell his knotted stomach, Anders went over to Bethany as she, Varric and Merrill entered the cave.

"How is he, Anders?" she asked eagerly. "What was wrong-what happened?"

Anders cleared his throat and assumed his well-practised healer's mask. "The spell…it damaged him, inside. His stomach was perforated. I've healed that," he added quickly as Bethany gasped. "He's…he's not out of the woods yet, though, Beth. Fluids have leaked into his body, which could cause problems. I'm going to start treating him immediately, but we won't really know for sure until maybe tomorrow. I'm doing everything I can for him, Beth, I swear."

"F-fluids?" Bethany stammered, glancing down at her sleeping brother. "What do you mean?"

"The spell caused him to bleed internally, and also some of the contents of his stomach will have escaped," Anders said softly. "There's a chance that…" He sighed and held one of Bethany's hands. "I won't lie to you, Beth; he's in danger. Those fluids could turn toxic and he could go into septic shock."

"Septic shock?" exclaimed Bethany, her eyes brimming with tears. Varric moved closer to her and stroked her back.

"I'm going to do everything I can not to let that happen," Anders reassured determinedly. "I won't leave his side, Beth." He released her hand and glanced at Varric, who nodded solemnly. "I need to make some medicine, now. Please excuse me."

"Thank you, Anders," Bethany whispered. "I know you'll do what you can."

"Come on, Sunshine," Varric said gently, and led her away to sit down.

"Can-can I do anything to help, Anders?" Merrill asked meekly as Anders sat on the ground, cross-legged, and started to pound some herbs with his pestle and mortar.

"Actually, you can," he replied. "I need some liverwort. Do you know what that is?" Merrill nodded quickly. "You'll find it growing under rocks or at the base of trees. Just a few scrapings will do. I also need a few handfuls of red moss; that's abundant along the edges of the cliffs. You should have no trouble finding that." He passed her a small bag.

"Right, I'm on it," she said, taking the bag carefully, and turned to leave.

"Merrill?"

"Yes, Anders?"

"Don't get falling off," he said with a thin smile.

"Oh-ho, I won't. Don't you worry about _that_." Glad to be helping, she trotted purposefully out of the cave, and Anders sighed, glancing down at Hawke. Then, a movement in his peripheral vision caught his eye, and his face dropped when he looked up to see Sebastian and Fenris enter, and turned his attention back to his task.

"What has _happened_?" Fenris demanded, rushing to Hawke's side and kneeling next to him.

"Oh, you _are _bothered, then?" Anders sniped, not looking up.

"Tell me!" Fenris snarled with a livid glare at the healer.

"Well, if you _really _want to know, while you were…wherever you were, he collapsed. Actually, he also collapsed while you were breaking that woman's neck, but I guess you were too busy to notice."

"What's the _matter_ with him, Anders?" Sebastian asked firmly, placing a hand on the trembling Fenris's shoulder.

"Perforated stomach, possible peritonitis. We'll have to see," Anders told them airily, adding a little water to his concoction.

"_Peritonitis_?" Fenris exclaimed. "Is that not…sometimes fatal?"

"_Sometimes_," said Anders, looking up at the elf. "But don't worry. _I'm _taking care of him."

At that moment, Hunter and Donnic entered, carrying several bundles of wood. They were followed by Aveline, who walked over to where Hawke lay while the other two guards set about lighting fires.

"How's he doing, Anders?" she asked.

"Still the same," he answered. "I'll have to wake him in a minute to give him some medicine. There's no way he can travel tonight. I'll stay with him."

"As will I," Fenris stated.

"There's really no need, Fenris," Anders told him. "As I said, _I'm _looking after him. _I'm_ not going to stomp off in a fit of self-pity."

"Do _not_ speak of things you know nothing of, Mage," Fenris replied in a low growl, his lip curling.

"Things I know nothing of?" asked Anders. "Well, I'll tell you what I _do _know: while you went off in a snit, Hawke here almost _died_. It's lucky one of his _friends _were around at the time, wasn't it?"

"This is _no_ time for pettiness," Sebastian interposed angrily to both of them. "Show some respect for his sister!"

Anders shrugged and continued to pound his mixture, while Fenris, glaring murderously at him, sat down and shuffled closer to Hawke.

Having finished preparing his medicine, Anders called to Bethany and she went over with Varric; Fenris got to his feet and he and Sebastian made way for her to kneel next to Hawke and Anders. "Beth, I'm going to wake him up for a bit," Anders told her. "You can talk to him, but I ask you to keep it brief. Bear in mind he might not actually make much sense; he'll be groggy. Also, try not to make him laugh if you can help it; his stomach's still delicate."

"Fat chance of that," Bethany said glumly.

"Bet he'd love to see one of your pretty smiles," Varric said with a smile of his own.

"I'll try," she promised, and took one of her brother's hands.

"Here goes," said Anders, placing a hand on Hawke's forehead and closing his eyes. Fenris felt a sharp jolt run along his markings, but paid it no heed as Hawke's eyes slowly opened, blinking several times.

"Hawke," Anders said softly. "Bethany's here."

Hawke's eyes wandered over to his sister as she squeezed his hand, doing her best to smile. "Oh, hello, Beth," he mumbled.

"Hello, Fletcher. How are you feeling?"

He frowned and closed his eyes. "Not too bad," he slurred. "How's my little sis?"

"Oh, good, Brother," she replied with false chirpiness.

"Did Sebastian find Fen?" he asked her, opening his eyes fully.

Fenris took a step forward and coughed quietly. "Yes, he found me."

Hawke squinted, trying without luck to bring the elf into focus, and instead concentrated on the white part of the blur that stood before him. "Fen…" He smiled weakly and let out a long sigh. "Are you-are you all right?"

"I…am well," Fenris said thickly, overwhelmed by guilt and worry, before Varric prodded his arm and pulled the edges of his mouth up with his fingers. Fenris cleared his throat again and forced a rigid smile. "I am here, and here I will remain."

"Oh, thank the Maker you're okay. I-I was worried about you."

"Do not speak further," Fenris advised. "You must take some medicine."

Hawke laughed at that, and then grimaced, clutching Anders's wrist. "B-bet you're loving this, aren't you, Fen? Revenge for m-my medicine."

"All right, that's enough, now," Anders said, cradling the back of Hawke's head and showing him the contents of the mortar. "You need to take this."

Hawke pulled a face upon seeing the gloopy brown liquid. "What do you call _that_?"

"Sorbitio Alvus Evacuare Celeris," Anders answered, noticing Fenris wince.

"That doesn't sound very nice," Hawke said heavily.

"It's not meant to be nice; it's meant to cure you," replied Anders, looking up at the rest of the group. "Erm…I'll have to ask you all to leave. I'll call you back when we're done."

"I-I'd like to stay, if it's all right?" asked Bethany.

Fenris gently touched her arm and shook his head. "You would not wish to stay, nor would your brother have you stay."

She gave him a confused look, but nodded and leaned down, placing a soft kiss on Hawke's forehead. "We'll just be in the chamber next door."

"Behave yourself," he teased.

Fenris crouched down and Hawke looked directly into his eyes as he came into focus. Fenris smiled softly and ran the back of his hand down Hawke's cheek. "We will speak later."

"Good." Hawke returned his smile and closed his eyes. With a sigh, Fenris stood up and reluctantly followed the others out of the cave.

"Anders," asked Hawke. "Why have you sent them away?"

"Look," Anders groaned, "we've got to flush the toxins out of you. They…they'll come out pretty fast once you take this."

Hawke's eyes snapped open. "Out…fast? From which end?"

"Um…probably both," Anders replied ruefully.

"Bo…? Oh, Anders…I hope not, for your sake."

"It's got to be done, Hawke. Now, come on; drink up. I need to get some water heated up."

~o~O~o~

By the time Anders called the others back into the main cavern, almost an hour had passed. Hawke, who was propped up against a small ledge, was deathly pale but greeted his friends with as warm a smile as he could manage. Anders had not left his side, and mopped his sweating brow with a small cloth.

The others maintained a discreet distance as Bethany and Varric went over to the two mages. Hawke, whose eyesight had improved, glanced over at Fenris, who stood away from everyone else looking awkward. Catching his eye, Hawke winked at him and was rewarded with a faint smile and a nod from the elf.

"Feeling any better, Brother?" asked Bethany.

"Much," Hawke replied; a lie, but an honourable one, he told himself. "This man is a bloody saint," he said to Varric, pointing at Anders. "You have no idea what he's just had to do. In fact, you don't _want _to know. I'm still going to tell you, though. In graphic detail."

Bethany giggled, and Varric held a hand up, his nose wrinkling. "From the noises we heard, we don't _need _graphic detail, Hawke."

"But I want to tell you, just in case you missed anything," offered Hawke.

"Uh-uh," said Varric firmly, walking away. "I'll leave you to it."

Hawke patted the ground next to him and Bethany sat down. "Beth, will you tell Anders to get some rest, please? He won't listen to me."

"Get some rest, Anders," she said, waggling a finger. "You need to look after yourself as well as Fletcher. We'll call you if he needs you." She took the cloth from Anders's hands and pointed away from them.

"All right," Anders sighed. "I suppose I could do with letting my mana regenerate. I'll just have an hour's kip." He pushed himself up and looked down at Bethany. "Just an hour, mind; wake me up if I go over. Don't give him anything to eat or drink."

Bethany nodded her agreement, and Anders stretched his arms, yawned and began to walk over to one of the small fires that had been lit.

"Anders," Hawke called out, and Anders turned back. "Thank you for what you've done. I really mean that."

"You've told me that a dozen times already," smiled Anders. "Just get better; that's all I want."

"Yes, get better," Bethany repeated as they watched him walk away.

"I intend to!" he replied with far more vigour than he felt. "Beth," he whispered, once again glancing over at Fenris; the elf was talking with Sebastian and Donnic, who were preparing to depart. "How's Fenris been? Any idea what he and Sebastian talked about?"

Bethany also quickly glanced over at Fenris before looking at her brother, and she shook her head. "I don't know what they were talking about, but he seems different since they came back. Almost…nervous," she said with a bemused shrug. "Ashamed? I don't know. He was asking me a lot of questions while we were out there: what your constitution is like, if you've ever been seriously ill or injured before, how long it took you to recover; that kind of thing. When we heard you vomiting again he looked like he wanted to kill Anders. I'd say he's worried sick."

Hawke's gaze again moved over to Fenris, just catching the elf looking at him before he averted his eyes and turned away. "He doesn't need to be worried to want to kill Anders. This will prove to be an interesting night, with both of them competing to look after me," he added with a sigh.

"Let _them _worry over that, Fletcher, not you," she said firmly. "Besides, I think Sebastian's telling-off did the trick; they seem to be avoiding each other, for now."

"Let's see how long that lasts," snorted Hawke.

"Well, Varric and I are staying…"

"No, you don't need to do that," interrupted Hawke.

"We're _staying_. Varric said he'll defuse any tension, and, if they take no notice of him, he'll pin them both to a wall with a bolt."

Hawke began to laugh, and then grabbed his stomach, failing to hide his pain from his sister.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Brother! I didn't mean to make you laugh!"

"Don't worry," Hawke said, forcing a smile between pants. "It-it's fading, now." He took one of his sister's hands and squeezed it. "Thanks for making me laugh…it was worth it. So, how does Varric intend to relieve hostilities?"

Bethany rolled her eyes and groaned softly. "I think he's planning to read some of his friend fiction to us later."

Hawke's face dropped like a stone. "Oh, Maker."

"He's just started a story about a love triangle between you, Fenris and Anders."

"He's done _what_?"

"…But I've convinced him that it may not be well-received, so he's going to read another one."

Hawke closed his eyes and slumped.

"Merrill's going to stay as well," Bethany went on. "She insisted. She's been beside herself with worry over you."

"Merrill has?"

Bethany nodded and looked behind her, where the Dalish elf was talking to Varric. "I think she wants to talk to you. Shall I send her over?"

"Yes please, sis. Who else is staying?"

"That's it. Aveline and Hunter have already left; Hunter agreed to do Fenris's shift tonight, so he needs to get a bit of sleep. Aveline said she'll make sure the templars don't come _too _far up the mountain."

Bethany stood up and smiled down at her brother. "I'll try to further dissuade Varric from his plans."

"Tell him that friend fiction induces spontaneous projectile vomiting in someone with my condition…whatever that is. Anders won't tell me; he just said I've got a dicky stomach."

Bethany nodded, her smile fading by a fraction. "I'll send Merrill over," she said quickly, and Hawke blew her a kiss, which she caught, and went over to the elf.

Merrill hesitantly walked over, her eyes as big as saucers. "Hawke…how's your tummy?" she asked, her voice low and quiet as she twisted her fingers together.

"I feel much better now, Merrill; _you _don't look too good, though. Is everything all right?"

She quickly glanced around the cavern and sat on her haunches beside him, wrapping her arms around her knees, her voice barely a whisper. "I-I hope I didn't drop you in it."

"Eh? What do you mean?" he asked with a frown.

"When Bethany said she couldn't see the wards, and then I went and put my foot in my gob and said I _could_. Oh, I'm _so _sorry, Hawke. I didn't mean to just blurt it out like that."

"Oh, _that_." Hawke sighed and gently touched Merrill's arm. "It's not your fault. I should have been honest with you from the start. You guessed, didn't you, soon after we met. I lied to you then, Merrill, and for that I'm sorry."

"Oh, it's all right," she replied, and the two of them shared a brief but thoughtful silence. "You don't…"

Hawke shook his head. "I haven't used it for eleven years."

"Have you told Fenris?" she asked, and Hawke's eyes closed, his head falling back on his shoulders. "Oh…I'll take that as a no, then."

"I'm…I'm going to," he whispered. "It's just finding the right time. Although, I doubt any time will be right for him to hear that."

"Well, you let me know when you _do_ tell him, Hawke; I'll come with you. Don't worry; I can stand up for myself."

Hawke squeezed Merrill's arm and smiled genuinely, touched at her desire to help. "That's really kind of you, Merrill, but something tells me that Fenris wouldn't want anyone else to be there."

"Hm, maybe you're right," she said pensively. "Well, you know where I live. If you want to talk to someone, come and see me and we'll have a drink. If…you like tea, that is."

"I love tea." He beckoned her closer, and placed a kiss on her cheek. "You're a good soul, Merrill."

She rubbed her cheek and grinned bashfully. "Careful. You don't want to make him jealous." She stood up and glanced over at Fenris, who once again pretended he hadn't been watching. "I think he wants to come over. I-I-I-I'll go."

"Thank you, Merrill. And stop worrying," he told her as she walked away.

A few minutes later, Donnic and Sebastian approached him with Fenris, who walked behind them. The two men exchanged pleasantries with Hawke and enquired about his health, before bidding him goodnight. Sebastian promised to pray for his recovery.

As they left, Fenris stood, ill-at-ease, suddenly feeling naked and exposed without his friends' company. "You are…feeling better?" he asked tentatively.

Hawke nodded. "Come and sit down, Fenris."

With a soft sigh, Fenris sat upon the ground a few feet away from Hawke.

"Do I smell or something?" Hawke teased.

Looking shocked, Fenris mumbled, "No," and scooted a little nearer, but still maintained his distance.

"How are you, Fenris? Did you work things out with Sebastian?"

Fenris hung his head and drew a slow breath. "Yes. I…" He shuffled closer still to Hawke and started to speak, but was unable to find the right words.

"You don't have to tell me," Hawke said softly. "It was a private conversation between the two of you."

"No…I…want to tell you," Fenris began, and then sighed.

"Just not tonight; I understand," said Hawke.

Fenris nodded and finally looked at Hawke, uncertainty in his eyes. "I…had not realised the extent of your injury. Had I known…"

"No, Fenris. Don't do that to yourself." Hawke reached over for his hand and gently stroked the elf's fingers with his thumb. "Hadriana's dead, and we're all safe; that's all that matters."

Remembering Anders's ominous words concerning Hawke's condition, Fenris squeezed his hand tightly and looked at him with determination in his eyes.

"Fletcher…I want you to know…I will _never _leave your side again; not as long as I draw breath. I give you my word."

Knowing the conversation they would have to have, butterflies flitted about in Hawke's stomach: razor-winged, cruel and angry butterflies, mocking and hurting him with their frantic, aberrant dance. Hawke hid his pained grimace and continued to stroke Fenris's hand, and the two of them sat silently for what seemed like an age.


	40. Chapter 40

Bethany had woken Anders after an hour as promised and he walked over to Hawke and Fenris, who sat together, talking quietly. As he neared, he noticed they were holding hands, obviously having made up, or at least come to an understanding. He took a deep breath, anger coiling tightly in his stomach at Hawke's naivety and Fenris's ability to manipulate him.

"Anders! Have a good sleep?" a more lucid Hawke asked him as he crouched down and rifled through his pack.

"Not too bad," Anders replied dispassionately, taking out several bunches of herbs and a few small phials. "Fenris," he said without looking at the elf. "Would you excuse us? I need to prepare some medicine."

"You do not need me to leave in order to prepare medicine," Fenris replied tightly.

"I'm going to need Fletcher's help," Anders said, and the fact he used Hawke's first name was not lost on Fenris. "Wouldn't want you to feel left out or anything."

"I will take my chances," answered Fenris, moving closer to Hawke in a clearly possessive display.

Hawke sighed and closed his eyes. "Will you two give it a rest just for one night?" he asked wearily. "For my sake?"

Both men fell silent, and had the grace to look mildly ashamed.

"They're still bickering," Bethany said to Varric as they stood watching the exchange a short distance away. "I don't want Fletcher worrying about them. It'll do nothing to help his recovery."

"I know just what they need," proclaimed Varric, patting his story book.

"Not _that _story," Bethany warned.

"Oh, all right," sighed Varric. "You never let me have any fun," he chided good-naturedly.

"You'll get more fun than you bargained for if they hear _that _one. Particularly the bit where Guardsman Fenris puts manacles on Anders, who resists arrest…"

Varric chuckled. "You could be right, Sunshine; perhaps they're not quite ready for that one, yet. I do have that _other_ one where the elf goes to the clinic."

"You mean the one with the cats?"

"Uh-huh."

"I think that might work," she said brightly. "Fletcher will like it, anyway, and hopefully they won't end up killing each other afterwards. It might cheer Fenris up a bit, too."

"Hey, Daisy!" Varric called over to Merrill, who was making some tea. "Care to hear a story?"

She glanced over at them, looking worried. "Ooh, I don't know…is it scary?"

"Only if fluffy kittens scare you," answered Varric.

Merrill's face lit up and she joined Varric and Bethany. "I'm not scared of cats. I like them. They're cute."

"Then we're all winners," declared Varric, who led the two ladies over to the others.

"Gather round, children," he told the group, and he, Bethany and Merrill sat upon the ground in front of the three men. "Uncle Varric's going to tell you a story."

"A _story_?" asked Fenris, an eyebrow rising sharply as he glanced furtively at Merrill and Bethany. "I have heard about your_…stories_. Is this going to be _lewd_?"

"Of course not," Varric reassured him smoothly, understanding his concerns. "You really think I'd read a _lewd_ story in front of Sunshine with her big brother here?"

"Funny, that," Bethany remarked coolly. "I just had to twist your arm to convince you _not-_"

"_Anyway_," Varric interrupted with a stern glance at Bethany, before turning back to Fenris. "There's a lot more than just smut in my repertoire, I'll have you know."

Fenris nodded. "In that case, I meant no offence, Dwarf."

"Well, good." Varric cleared his throat and opened his book, taking a moment to find the right page. "Ah, here we are. Are you all listening? Blondie?"

Anders looked up from his mortar and pestle for a moment before returning to his task. "I'm listening."

"Once upon a time, there was a good and kindly mage named Blondie," Varric began, noting with satisfaction that Anders looked up again. "He gave all of his spare time to treat the sick, the injured and the infirm, and asked for not a copper in return. But, not only did he care for the residents of Darktown, he also took in numerous stray cats that had no homes, and were lonely and sad."

"Aw, poor kitties," said Merrill dejectedly as Anders's hand stilled on the pestle.

"But they _weren't_ poor, Daisy: they were the happiest kitties in all of Thedas, for Blondie cared for them as he would his own children," Varric went on, hearing a quiet snigger from Anders. "Those cats loved that man, and he loved them ten times back in return. At night, when Blondie closed the clinic, his feline friends would snuggle up to him, and they'd keep each other warm."

A quiet groan was heard from Hawke and he glanced at Fenris, whose nose had wrinkled in disgust.

"But, Daisy," Varric said to the rapt mage, "their happiness was not to last. One day, the clinic was visited by one of the city guards, who was conducting a health inspection on behalf of the Viscount."

"And would that guard happen to be named _Fenris_?" the warrior elf asked in a flat tone.

"You know what, Elf? By coincidence, he was!" Varric chirped.

"You should understand, Dwarf, that I do not like cats at_ all_," Fenris informed him.

"Well, they probably wouldn't like _you_, either," sniped Anders.

Varric glanced at Bethany and they both laughed. "Well, that makes the story even more authentic, then! Anyway," he resumed, "upon seeing the cats in the clinic, the guardsman, who was named Fenris, don't you know, declared them a health hazard, and ordered Blondie to get rid of them, or else the clinic would be closed forever."

"Oh, boo, Fenris!" Merrill exclaimed, poking her tongue out at him.

"What? This is a _story_!" Fenris rejoined incredulously. "Do you even know what that _means_? It means it is _fabricated_!" With a glance to his left, he noticed that Hawke was laughing softly, apparently not in pain, and he took a deep breath, deciding that he would make the sacrifice of listening to this drivel for Hawke's sake.

Ignoring them, Varric continued. "Blondie tried to appeal to Guardsman Fenris's better nature, and introduced him to the cats. They all had names…there was a tubby one with messy brown fur named Hawke…"

"Cheeky git," Hawke muttered, hearing quiet snickering from _both _sides of him. Glancing quickly to his right, he barely caught the remnants of a smile on Fenris's lips. "Are you mixing that, or what?" he asked Anders, who was no longer paying any attention to his medicine.

"Yes…" Anders replied absently, and began to pound the contents of the mortar, although his eyes remained on Varric.

"And was there also a short-arsed, big-nosed cat that was bald and furry at the same time?" Hawke asked Varric with a charming smile.

"Can't say there was, Hawke," Varric sniffed, and once again cleared his throat. "And there was a very pretty one that looked after all the other cats, and everyone who ever met her adored her. Her name was Sunshine." Bethany shook her head and giggled.

"Then, there was a gingery-blond tomcat that was a little scrawny, but was very kind…"

"How can _cats_ be kind?" demanded Fenris.

"Well, this cat _was_. His name was Blondie."

"Was there one called Merrill?" asked the Dalish mage hopefully.

"Well, sure there was, Daisy! She was _also_ a very pretty cat, and she loved to play with the others. She also collected shiny things."

Merrill laughed delightedly, too happy to notice Fenris scowl and roll his eyes.

"The cats gathered around Fenris, rubbing their heads against his legs, wanting to make friends with him, but the wicked guardsman was having none of it. Only _one_ of the cats didn't approach him: a slender white tomcat with green eyes that sat off on his own, watching silently. Then, as their eyes met, the tomcat turned and sauntered off, not even deeming the guard worthy of his time."

"A slender, white-haired tomcat with green eyes?" scoffed Fenris, shaking his head. "And I wonder what _his _name was?"

"Ooh! I know! I know!" squealed Merrill excitedly.

"Shh, Daisy!" intoned Varric. "Don't spoil it for everyone."

"No, Merrill, _please_ don't spoil it for us," Hawke chortled. "I really have no _idea _who he's talking about, I'm sure."

"Ha! I'm cleverer than you!" Merrill teased. "I'm not saying a _word_."

"Never mind all that!" interrupted Anders, almost spilling his mixture. "What happened to the cats?"

"Give me that!" Hawke ordered, snatching the mortar and pestle from him, and began grinding his own medicine with what little strength he had.

Varric shook his head sadly for effect. "Guardsman Fenris served Blondie with some papers, ordering him to have the cats gone by the following day, or they'd be…" He lowered his voice to a whisper, "_Put down_. Blondie looked down upon his purring friends – his only friends in the world – and fell to his knees, sobbing…"

"Oh, come _on_!" Anders protested with a laugh.

Fenris folded his arms. "So, naturally,_ I_ am the villain?"

"No! You're no villain, Elf," replied Varric. "You're just doing your job. Anyway, Blondie vowed that no guard with a stick up his ass was gonna get his hands on his little pals. The next morning, he took his cats down into the bowels of the undercity, through secret tunnels used to help apostates escape…"

"Hey! How do you know about that?" demanded Anders.

"Blondie…this is _me_ we're talking about, remember? Anyway, he wrapped his little friends up in blankets, gave them a treat and told them to stay put. When he arrived back at the clinic, Guardsman Fenris had returned with a bunch of other guards. 'Tear this place apart!' he ordered them gruffly," he related, giving his best impersonation of Fenris.

"Oh, Fenris, how _could _you?" Merrill implored.

"Yes, Fenris, how _could _you?" Hawke joined in with a smirk. Speechless, Fenris clapped a hand over his eyes and shook his head.

"And what happened then?" prompted Anders eagerly.

"Well, Blondie, the guards split up and Guardsman Fenris went down into the bowels of Darktown, eventually finding a concealed entrance to a tunnel. Intrigued, the elf lit a torch, entered and cautiously made his way along, a satisfied grin spreading across his chops when he heard plaintive mewling sounds from up ahead."

"Oh, no!" gasped Merrill, covering her mouth with her hands.

"He pressed on, eventually finding a shivering bundle of fur and blankets. 'Ah, I have you now!' he announced triumphantly, unsheathing his sword." Varric paused dramatically and took a long pull from his waterskin.

"Varric!" Merrill and Anders exclaimed.

Wiping his mouth, Varric cleared his throat and continued. "Well, something funny happened, then. As he bent over them, intending to viciously slay them, he noticed that to his side sat the white tomcat he'd seen the night before. Their eyes met, and something unspoken passed between them. As he glanced down at the poor creatures with their huge, pleading eyes and cute little noses, his heart melted, and, with a sigh, he turned and walked away. Before he left, though, something told him to turn back. He did so, and once again his eyes met the white-haired cat, who gave him an approving look…"

"An…a-approving…?" Hawke clutched at his belly, snorting with laughter. "Anders! Make it stop! It hurts!"

"So, cats can be _approving_ as well as _kind_?" Fenris queried acerbically.

"Shh! I haven't finished yet!" Varric scolded them. "Guardsman Fenris, having new-found respect for the cats, nodded once to the white-haired tomcat, who nodded back in acknowledgement. Then, they turned and went their separate ways."

"And…Anders!" wailed Hawke. "Maker's balls! My stomach! The c-cat…nodded!"

"Stop making him laugh, Varric!" chuckled Anders.

Fenris shook his head, the sight of Hawke laughing uncontrollably causing the edges of his mouth to upturn slightly. "It would appear I have sorely underestimated the feline species. Not only are they capable of kindness _and _approval, they can also _nod in acknowledgement_."

"S-stop it!" Hawke spluttered, leaning against Fenris to prevent himself from sliding onto his back. "Mercy, Fen, please!"

"Do you wanna hear the end of the story, or not?" demanded Varric, feigning impatience.

"Yes! Shut up, you lot!" Merrill commanded.

"_Thank _you, Daisy. Well, Guardsman Fenris went back to his men and called off the search, stating that Blondie must have gotten rid of them already. Blondie realised he wasn't telling the truth, though, because before Guardsman Fenris left, Blondie mouthed 'thank you' to him.

"After that, Guardsman Fenris became a regular visitor to the clinic, always claiming to have some kind of minor illness or whatever. Now and again, he brought little toys and treats for the cats, professing to have 'found' them. One day, he asked Blondie where the white-haired tomcat with green eyes was. Blondie's face fell, and he said that the only cat there'd ever been matching that description was the first cat he'd seen at the clinic…"

He paused and sighed theatrically. "…That had sadly passed away."

"When?" gasped Merrill, her eyes brimming with tears.

Varric fixed her with an intense look. "A _year _before."

"Oh!" exclaimed Merrill, dabbing at her eyes. "So, he-he was watching over them?"

"M-Maker!" howled Hawke, grabbing Anders's robe. "P-put me to s-sleep! Please!"

"I can't!" Anders apologised, his own body racked with laughter. "I can't concentrate!"

"That was _beautiful_, Varric," Merrill stated, her voice trembling. "Thank you."

"That was b-bloody awful!" choked out Hawke.

"_Truly_," agreed Fenris, desperately trying not to laugh himself.

Bethany and Varric exchanged smiles, and Varric turned to a different page. "Another?"

~o~O~o~

After Varric had told a couple more stories – but not _that _story - Anders finally called a halt when Hawke warned that he would have an 'accident' if he laughed one more time. The group, visibly more relaxed, set about making a late supper, and even Fenris temporarily left Hawke's side to assist, leaving Anders to finish off a huge batch of medicine, which simmered in a cauldron over the fire.

As Merrill and Bethany tidied away, Varric and Fenris walked over to Hawke and Anders, each carrying two bowls of skilly* and dumplings, as well as a large hunk of bread apiece.

Fenris placed his two bowls next to Hawke and began to tear the bread, but Anders held a hand up to stop him. "Sorry. Hawke can't have anything to eat for now."

"Oh," murmured Fenris with an apologetic look at Hawke, and passed Hawke's share to the other two, who proceeded to split it three ways.

"Bastards," Hawke grumbled along with his stomach. "So when _can _I eat?"

"We'll have to see how you go during the night," Anders answered, passing Hawke a tin mug. "Here, drink this."

Hawke frowned at the contents of the mug and beckoned Fenris closer. "Remember this?" he asked the elf, showing him the green-brown slop within.

"My medicine," Fenris recalled, grimacing as he sniffed at it.

"This is a concentrated version of that, and it has _liquorice _in it, which I _hate_," he said morosely. "Plus, I have to take it _every two hours_."

"You have my sympathy," Fenris commiserated with an impish glint in his eye. "You had better drink your sludge before it gets cold," he whispered, repeating Hawke's teasing directions when treating Fenris's foot.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" bleated Hawke as the two ladies arrived and sat down with their meals.

"Do what he says, Hawke," Anders directed. "You have another dose to take straight after."

"_Another_?" Hawke exclaimed, pouting as he brought the mug to his lips. "I hate you all." He took a deep breath, and, preferring not to prolong the experience, downed the medicine in one. With a convulsive shudder, he slammed the mug down next to Anders, his eyes streaming as it was promptly re-filled.

The second mug seemed to have a soporific effect on Hawke, and he started to doze as the others finished their supper. "That'll be the hops," Anders quietly explained, standing up. "I was worried I'd put too much in, but that seems about right. Well, I'm going to have another kip; I need to be up again in a couple of hours."

"I…could administer the medicine," offered Fenris with a shrug. "I wake frequently during the night. If you tell me the required dosage…"

Anders glanced down at the elf and sighed, reluctant to relinquish his position as Most Important And Indispensable Friend To Hawke.

"Maegz zense," Hawke maundered drowsily. "You zhould ge'zmuch ress z'pozz'ble, Andzz. You're the moze 'mportant one here."

Suitably flattered, warmth spread through Anders's chest, and he nodded slowly. "All right," he agreed after a pause, knowing that, of all people, Fenris would not forget to administer Hawke's medicine. He went into his pack and took out a candle, which he notched several times with a small knife, and passed it to Fenris. "Each mark represents roughly an hour. In two hours' time, he'll need _another_ two doses. It'll be more palatable for him if it's warmed up."

Fenris nodded and walked over to the fire, lighting the candle.

"After another two hours, give him a single dose," Anders went on. "You can start giving him sips of water, then; as much as he can manage. Wake me up in time for the dose after that; I'll need to check his temperature."

"Very well," answered Fenris.

"This medicine will have a similar effect as the one you took," Anders told the elf. "He's going to feel like crap during the night, but he _will _improve, hopefully by tomorrow. He may also perspire a lot; that's normal. If he gets chills, make him some tea with this." He passed Fenris a small pouch containing crushed, dried flowers. "That's elderflower and chamomile. Don't give him anything to eat. If you're in doubt at all, wake me up. Don't let him tell you he's a healer and he knows best; if _you're _in doubt, call me."

"Understood."

"See you all in the morning, then. 'Night," Anders said to the group and went behind a rock to relieve himself before turning in.

"Goodnight," called Bethany along with the others, and she crouched down next to her brother, placing a kiss on his cheek. "Sleep well, Fletcher." She then stood and walked over to Fenris, and also kissed him softly on the cheek. "Goodnight, Fenris. I know you'll take good care of him."

"Yes…goodnight…Bethany," he mumbled awkwardly with a polite smile.

"Hey! Where's _mine_?" Varric complained.

"_You've_ had plenty," Bethany answered, walking away. "Merrill, would you care to share our fire?"

"Oh, yes," replied Merrill, realising that was a cue to leave the two men alone. She looked over at Fenris, having no intention of _kissing _him, but wondering how to say goodnight in a polite way. Fenris nodded curtly at her, and she nodded back, glad for _that _problem to be solved. She then went over to Bethany and Varric, where she persuaded the dwarf to tell her yet another story.

Fenris sat down next to Hawke, who appeared to have nodded off. With a glance around to make sure no one was watching, he also kissed Hawke on the cheek. "Goodnight, Fletcher," he said softly, and laid his head against Hawke's shoulder.

"'Zat my elven pillow?" Hawke mumbled, snuggling closer.

"Must you?" Fenris groused, not altogether convincingly.

"Yesss…musssst…" drawled Hawke, Fenris's quiet snort the last thing he heard.

~o~O~o~

Fenris awoke some time later, feeling a faint vibrating sensation along his body. He glanced at Hawke, who had his arms wrapped around himself, shivering violently, his teeth chattering.

"F-Fen…" he stuttered.

"Why didn't you wake me?" Fenris reprimanded softly. He placed his hands on Hawke's arms and rubbed them up and down in an attempt to keep him warm. "Wait here," he instructed, and, releasing Fletcher's arms, pushed himself up.

"W-where else am I g-g-going to g-go?" stammered Hawke with his best attempt at a laugh.

"Forgive me. I did not intend to be irreverent," said a concerned Fenris, walking over to the fire, upon which he threw a few of the tree branches that had been collected earlier. He then removed the small pouch that Anders had given him and frowned at it.

"W-what's wrong, F-Fen?" asked Hawke.

"Anders said I should make some tea from this if you have chills, and yet he also said that I am not to give you water until a few hours from now."

"No, it's f-fine," answered Hawke.

"I can prepare this now?" Fenris asked, and Hawke nodded. Fenris looked over at the candle, which he'd placed on top of a small ledge; it indicated that close to two hours had passed. "I should heat up your medicine, first. Or should you have the tea, first?"

"The tea," answered Hawke, who was still trembling but had warmed up a little as the fire grew. "That medicine'll knock me out again."

Fenris, under Hawke's directions, placed the correct amount of dried petals into Hawke's mug and put some water on to boil. "It will not take long," he assured the shivering Hawke, walking over to him.

"We'll m-make a healer of you, yet," Hawke joked as Fenris knelt between Hawke's legs and once again began rubbing his arms.

"Why must you take so much of the medicine?" asked Fenris. "Why is it concentrated? Why has it caused you to tremble in such a way?"

"Well, f-firstly, you're an elf," Hawke explained, his stammer easing as Fenris continued to warm him. "You weigh a lot less than me so a weaker concentration was sufficient. The course I g-gave you was for a generalised infection, which is taken over a longer period of time. With me…well, Anders hasn't said but I think I can guess at what he's treating me for. He's just being cautious, that's all."

He smiled gratefully at Fenris, feeling warmer and much more comfortable. "He's put a few extra things in the medicine to induce a fever, the idea being that any infection is sweated out. That's becoming an outmoded way of thinking, but Anders is going by the book. He does things properly; if they don't work, then he'll resort to more unusual measures."

Fenris nodded seriously, his brows knitting together. "Are you…in danger, still? Tell me the truth."

Hawke sighed. "I think Anders is treating me as if I have peritonitis, as a preventative measure. It can take between one and two days before any symptoms become apparent, so…there's no way of knowing, yet. Listen, Fen; whatever you may think of Anders, there's no better healer in the Free Marches. I'm in the best hands. And I have my trainee healer with me, as well," he added with a grin.

Fenris didn't laugh, and he sighed as his large eyes met Hawke's. With another sigh, he hung his head.

"Fen…can we talk? I mean, would you like to? It might make you feel better."

"No," Fenris replied firmly. "You must concentrate on your recovery. You do not need to be encumbered by anything else."

"But…it'd make _me_ feel better if we talked, as well; I'm…worried about you."

"I…should prepare your tea, first," Fenris said quietly, again standing up. He walked over to the fire, shame burning his face and belly. As much as it vexed Fenris to admit, the abomination _had _been correct: Fenris had abandoned Hawke, taking off with a thought for no one but himself. Shaking his head as he poured the hot water into the mug, he gave himself a mental slap across the face. Hawke was ill, perhaps seriously ill, and he did _not _need Fenris feeling sorry for himself. He needed Fenris to be _strong_.

"You okay there, Fen?" Hawke quietly called over.

Fenris, having made the tea, nodded and walked back over to Hawke, settled down next to him, and passed him the mug.

"Ooh," Hawke shuddered, a chill running through him as he held the hot mug, taking a few sips.

"You are perspiring," Fenris observed, and he leapt up, took the cloth that Anders had used to mop Hawke's brow, and moistened it with cool water. He then wrung it out, folded it and placed it on Hawke's forehead, before once again settling down next to him.

"You'll have to fill in at the clinic sometimes," Hawke said, gazing at the elf with a warm smile. "You have a wonderful bedside manner."

A modest smile crept along Fenris's lips. "I would have no patience for those with minor afflictions," he confessed. "I would tell them to stop feeling sorry for themselves…" He paused and a thoughtful look came over him. Hawke watched him carefully, but said nothing. "…Perhaps…perhaps I should take my own advice."

Hawke remained silent and moved one of his legs aside, allowing Fenris to sit closer to him. "I have not been myself lately," Fenris began, staring at the ground.

"Which is understandable," Hawke answered immediately.

Fenris shrugged. "Is it? Fletcher…I do not often show my feelings, although, with you, I cannot help myself…whether those feelings are good or bad. What I neglect to do, however, is explain myself; to tell you _why_ I yell at you, or _why_ I shut you out."

"Fenris, I understood how you felt," Hawke said softly.

"That does not make it right," answered Fenris. "Perhaps it is an excuse, but, when I was a slave, I was conditioned to stay quiet and keep my feelings hidden…I was not _supposed _to have feelings."

"But you do," Hawke said. "And sooner or later those feelings have to come out."

"But, sometimes…I cannot control them," Fenris replied in a hushed tone, sadness and longing in his eyes as they met Hawke's.

Hawke sighed and gently stroked Fenris's shoulder. "You're still learning how to do that. _I've_ had twenty-six years to learn how to hide or displace certain feelings, or pass them off with a joke. _You_ remember barely six months of your life as a slave, and, for the three years you've been on the run, you were mostly alone until…how long have we known each other? Almost three months? And all of a sudden you're lumped with a group that mostly consists of mages," he said with a smile. "I'd say you're doing pretty well, considering."

"I have learned one, thing, if nothing else," Fenris replied humbly, touched by Hawke's understanding. "There_ are_ good mages…you and your sister, for example. I never imagined those words would ever leave my mouth, yet you have proved me wrong more times than I can enumerate, and I am glad of that."

"And what about Anders? Do you think you'll ever accept him?"

Fenris thought about this for several moments. "We both care for you," he eventually said. "Whatever else I think of him, I would trust him to protect you. Should that ever change, I will rethink my position. For now, though, I will tolerate him for your sake."

Hawke sighed. "I suppose that's the best I can hope for."

"He _was_ correct, however, when he accused me of abandoning you to wallow in self-pity," Fenris said in a bitter tone.

"Fen…"

"No." Fenris touched Hawke's arm to silence him, needing to explain, to honour their relationship with his honesty. "That was completely unacceptable. In doing that, I insulted not only you, but those who accompanied us…everyone who gave up their time and placed themselves at risk for _me. _I intend to call on each of them in due time to thank them but, for now, I give _you_ my thanks, with every fibre of my being. You have no idea what this means to me, and the thought that you are…ill because of…"

"I'm ill because we were in a fight and I got hurt. It happens," Hawke replied with a firm edge to his voice.

"You are_ ill_ because…" Fenris sighed and snorted softly. "…Perhaps." He took Hawke's mug, which was now empty, and stood up, moving over to the fire, on which he placed the cauldron of medicine. He then returned to Hawke and sat next to him. "I need to stop seeing myself as a slave, Fletcher," he said quietly. "Sebastian advised me as much, for my own sake, but I need to do that for _your _sake, also." He took one of Hawke's hands. "I have a new life, now, and I am fortunate enough that you are part of it. I will do nothing more to jeopardise that."

He moved his other hand up to rest on Hawke's cheek, and Hawke moved his own hand to stroke Fenris's hair. "Until today, Fletcher, part of me refused to believe that you…part of me believed I was unworthy of your…care. I no longer feel that way. Today, you saw the worst of me, and still you accept me. If you are willing, I would…very much like for us to…" He hung his head and shrugged. "I…cannot find the words."

"I…think I know what you mean," Hawke replied, his stomach fluttering, and a frown creased his forehead. "Although…you have not yet seen the worst of me."

"I am beginning to wonder if there _is _a 'worst of you'," Fenris said, moving closer to Hawke, brushing his lips against the mage's.

Hawke gulped and drew back slightly. "There is. We all have a dark side, Fenris."

Fenris also pulled away and glanced over at the cauldron, from which light steam rose. "Should you wish to confide in me, I will not judge you," Fenris promised, little realising the effect his words had on Hawke.

"I-I know," Hawke whispered, feeling slightly nauseous. "Maybe…"

"I understand. Not now," Fenris interjected. "When you have recovered, we will talk, as soon it is convenient for you to do so. It will do you no good to keep it buried inside."

Hawke nodded slowly, a burning in his gut, and he pulled Fenris close. "I want you to know, Fenris, that you…you mean a lot to me. Whatever happens…I…"

Hawke was silenced as Fenris's lips met his, and Hawke cradled the elf's face, losing himself in Fenris's tender kiss. Fenris gently broke the kiss, and once again took Hawke's hand. "Whatever it is, it will _not_ keep me from you," Fenris vowed, shaking his head determinedly. "Not now." With a broad smile, he stood up and went over to the fire, where he filled Hawke's mug with medicine.

As Hawke watched him, a wave swelled inside of him, and he released a shaky breath, quickly dashing away the tear that slid down his cheek, ready to plaster a grin across his face when Fenris returned to him.

_*Skilly: Similar to thin porridge, skilly was a staple among peasants during the Middle Ages. It was made with oatmeal, water and meat/vegetables or whatever else was to hand._


	41. Chapter 41

"_You're making rather a habit of misplacing people, aren't you, my pet? Or is it 'losing' them? I never know how you mortals say it."_

_Hawke folded his arms and rolled his eyes, his casual stance belying the irritation and anger that bubbled up inside him. "What do you want?" he asked, affecting a bored tone._

"_First that poor lad you…defiled, followed by your father, then that oafish brother of yours. What was his name? Cadaver? Oh, wait…that's what he ended _up _as. My apologies." The demon threw her head back and cackled._

"_Is this going to take long?" Hawke snapped, and the look in her eye told him that she was satisfied she'd riled him._

"_I just thought we could catch up," Synia said, feigning hurt, as she cupped one of her breasts in what she supposed was a seductive way. "It's been far too long."_

"_It hasn't been long _enough_. Just say what you've got to say, then fuck off," Hawke growled. "And don't bother with that tit-stroking nonsense. It doesn't work on me."_

"_Oh, that's right!" Synia's eyes lit up and she sauntered closer to Hawke, whose nostrils flared in disgust. "You've a penchant for those of the more…masculine persuasion, haven't you? And they don't come much more masculine than…Fenris, is it?"_

_The grotesque image of Synia shifted and rippled. Hawke blinked, and before him stood an almost- perfect representation of Fenris, minus his markings, that wore nothing but a lascivious smile._

"_You want me, don't you?" the demon purred, using the elf's deep, gravelly voice._

"_You honestly think I'd be turned on by that?" mocked Hawke with a bitter laugh. "You really have no idea, do you?"_

"_I had an idea once," said the demon. "After all, young Dalton wasn't your first, was he? Oh, no; I was."_

"_While you were pretending to be him!" Hawke blustered, his cheeks red with anger and frustration. Maker, how he wished he could cremate this incongruous facsimile of Fenris, and Synia with it. _

"_And what difference does that make?" asked the Fenris replica. "You enjoyed it, didn't you?"_

"_Stop using his voice!" demanded Hawke._

"_Why don't you enjoy_ me_, while you get the chance?" The false elf moved closer to Hawke, who could not move his feet, held in place by the demon's magic. "I know you want to fuck him; you may as well do it now, because he won't come anywhere near you once you tell him about our deal. You'll lose _him_ just as you lost the others."_

"Fletcher?"_ called an incorporeal voice, and Hawke's heart leapt in his chest._

"_Ah, there he is; he asks for you. He cares for you, doesn't he?" the demon mocked._

"_You have no idea what it means to care for someone," Hawke said angrily. "You're wasting your time. You're not catching me out like that again; I'm not a stupid kid anymore. Go and torment someone else."_

"Hawke! Wake up!" _a different voice called._

"_Is that the possessed mage?" asked Synia excitedly, still using the voice and image of Fenris. "He has designs on you, you know." _

"_No he does _not_," Hawke argued, trying to steady his voice, knowing that she thrived on his discomfort._

"_Oh, but he does, my pet. He wants more from you than mere friendship. The question is, what _does _he want? He's so hard to figure out, isn't he? Is he merely after that…body of yours," she asked in a seductive whisper, "or is it something else?" The demon placed a hand on Hawke's chest and ran it downward. "What _does_ he have planned for you?"_

_Hawke grabbed the demon's wrist in a crushing grip. "Don't _touch_ me," he growled, the warning in his voice obvious, but Synia, knowing he could not use his powers in her domain, was unfazed._

"_Fine," the demon uttered, freeing itself from his grip. "Just looking after my investment. I wouldn't want the mage getting you killed or anything…before your time."_

"_I'm not interested in anything you have to say," Hawke insisted, although his eyes betrayed that Synia's warning about Anders had hit a nerve._

"_Oh, really?" Synia laughed and turned her back on Hawke and backed into him, grinding the buttocks of the naked elf against Hawke's groin. "You're interested in this, though, aren't you?"_

"_Stop it," Hawke warned, his voice trembling, furious that Synia had used Fenris's image in this way, and he pushed the demon away, which did nothing to discourage it. _

"_Come on," Synia urged, turning to face Hawke. "You want the elf. Just fuck me now, and no one will ever know but us. He likes it up the fundament, doesn't he? Didn't his master used to…"_

"_That's enough!" bellowed Hawke, lashing out with his fist and belting the imposter elf across the face. The false Fenris crumpled to the ground and looked up at Hawke, his lip wobbling and tears spilling from his eyes. _

"_H-how could you, Fletcher?" wailed the demon. "I thought you loved me!"_

"_Stop this!" Hawke yelled, his voice choked with his own tears as the demon in Fenris's stolen form laughed mockingly at him._

"Fletcher! Wake up!"

"Hawke? Hawke! Come on, wake up! You're having a bad dream!"

The voices, so soothing only a moment ago, now battered his ears, jolting him awake, and he gasped, panic-stricken, at Anders and Fenris, who leaned over him, both looking worried.

"You are awake," said Fenris, exhaling in relief. "It is over. You had a nightmare."

"W-what did you hear?" blathered Hawke, swatting away Anders's hand as he attempted to mop Hawke's profusely-sweating brow.

"Hear?" asked Fenris with a confused look at Anders. "I…heard nothing of consequence; you were not making a great deal of sense. Something about a woman? Synia? But I did not fully comprehend it."

"You didn't-you didn't hear, then?" Hawke asked the elf fearfully.

"Hear what? I don't understand."

Hawke pushed himself onto his elbows, his breathing rapid and shallow. He started as Anders's hand rested on his brow, and his eyes darted around the cave wildly.

"What's wrong with him?" Fenris asked Anders.

"It might be his fever," Anders replied. "I need to bring it down; it's making him confused."

"Beth," Hawke blurted out, and he started to tremble. "I-I need to speak to Beth. Where is she?"

"She has gone for a morning stroll with Varric," answered Fenris, going to touch Hawke's arm, but Hawke flinched and scooted away.

"Hawke," Anders said firmly, "you have a high fever. Whatever it is you dreamed about, it's not real. You're _safe_."

"Somebody get Beth!" Hawke shouted, shrinking away from the two men, unable to look either of them in the eye.

"Shall I go?" offered Merrill, who stood a few feet away.

"No," answered Fenris quietly, getting to his feet. "I will go." He looked down upon Hawke for a moment, hurt and deeply concerned at seeing him so distressed, and then he glanced at Anders.

"He'll be all right," Anders assured him, hastily throwing some yarrow and catnip into his mortar. "I just need to get his fever down a bit. You'd better get his sister."

"_You_ were the one who induced his fever in the first place," Fenris accused in consternation. "And now you are trying to bring it down? You are supposed to be healing him, not harming him!"

"Fine!" snapped Anders, throwing the pestle into the mortar. "_You _make the bloody medicine if you know better than me!"

"Stop arguing!" Hawke yelled, clutching the sides of his head. "I need Beth! Please…" His face crumpled, and, to Anders and Fenris's dismay, he began to whimper.

"Will _someone_ please go and get his sister?" Anders demanded, again taking up his mortar and pestle and furiously pounding the herbs within.

Shame and guilt surging through him, Fenris nodded and, with one more glance at Hawke, he turned and quickly exited the cave.

"Who was she, Hawke?" Anders asked him pointedly once Fenris had left. "Is she…?" He glanced up at Merrill, who sighed and sat down next to Hawke.

"I know, Anders," she said simply.

"You know what?"

"She knows I'm a blood mage," Hawke replied irritably.

"My spirit's name is Audacity," she told them matter-of-factly. "What was the name of yours again?" she asked Hawke.

"Synia," he snapped.

"Can we _not _discuss this here?" Anders interjected angrily, pouring the crushed herbs onto a square of muslin, which he folded and tied. "I need some hot water, Merrill."

"_You_ started it," she retorted, "and there's plenty over there," she said, pointing behind her towards the fire. Anders cast her a sour look, stood up and stomped over to the fire. Merrill shuffled a little closer to Hawke and gently touched his arm, keeping it there when he recoiled. "Does she torment you, Hawke?" she asked softly.

Hawke brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. "I don't want to talk about it."

"I get on quite well with my spirit," she said with a shrug. "It might be that…Synia? Is a bit hurt that you're not using the powers she taught you."

"_Hurt_?" Hawke asked in disbelief. "Are you really that stupid? Your _spirit _gets on well with you because every time you use your powers, its hold over you increases! They're not _capable_ of having hurt feelings, Merrill; they're demons!"

"You're wrong, Hawke," Merrill asserted. "They're just misunderstood. My spirit is kind and only wants to help me and my clan."

"And what exactly has this kind spirit _done _for you and your clan?" demanded an incensed Hawke, his fever and the visit from Synia having robbed him of patience or humour. "From what I can see, most of your clan is terrified of you and they more or less kicked you out. How has_ that_ helped them?"

"They don't understand," she replied sadly. "One day they'll see what I'm trying to do. Audacity has only ever wanted to help me."

"And what does he want in return?" Hawke asked.

"Nothing. He's never asked anything of me," she replied indignantly.

"I can't believe you're so naïve," Anders interrupted, returning to them with a mug of prepared medicine. "There is _always_ a price. Your demon has just not issued its terms, yet. That will come."

"No, you're both wrong," she defended, shaking her head.

"He's tricked you, Merrill; can't you see?" Hawke retorted. "He must want _something _from you. I was tricked, as well, but at least I can _see_ that."

"_You _were tricked?" Anders asked, surprised and intrigued. His eyes then moved to the cave entrance and he held his hand up, listening. "They're back; I can hear them coming. Now, stop talking about bloody demons and drink this," he said, pushing the mug into Hawke's hands. Merrill sighed and got to her feet.

As soon as Fenris re-entered, Anders noted with interest that Hawke immediately hung his head, fear etched onto his face. The warrior led Bethany over to her brother with Varric following, although the dwarf hung back a little. Fenris crouched down next to Hawke but refrained from touching him. "Your sister is here, now," he said in a soothing tone.

Hawke gulped and nodded, still unable to look Fenris in the eye. "Thanks, Fen. I-I need to speak to her alone."

"Yes, of course." There was hurt in Fenris's voice, as well as concern, but he felt he had no place demanding he be included in a private conversation, as much as he wanted to know what was going on. "I will take my leave." He stood up and nodded at Bethany, heaviness in his posture as he walked away, joined by Varric. Anders took up some of his equipment and moved further away, where he started on a new batch of medicine. Merrill left the cave to go for a walk.

"Fletcher?" Bethany knelt down next to her brother, who finally looked up to make sure everyone else was out of earshot, and she saw terror in his eyes as they caught hers.

"I-I need to go home," he whispered. "Now. I can't stay here any longer."

"Oh, dear brother, whatever's the matter?" She stroked his hair and moved a little closer. "Fenris said you had a bad dream. Did you…?" Her face dropped, then, and her expression hardened. "_She _visited you, didn't she?" she guessed.

"She-she masqueraded as him," he stammered. "I…I hit him, Beth!"

"It wasn't him, Fletcher," she said firmly.

Hawke nodded quickly, his breathing erratic. "I have to tell him. Today. He _has_ to know about me. I won't have her using him like that again. I _won't_." Bethany clutched one of his trembling hands and glanced over at Anders, who was watching them but could not hear what had been said. He pointed to the mug next to Hawke and gestured for him to drink it.

"Here, take this," said Bethany, handing the medicine to her brother. "This will bring your fever down and will make you feel better."

Fletcher nodded and grasped the mug, taking a few sips. "He-he has to know, Beth; he has to be free to get away from me. I feel like he's been sullied. He deserves better than that. He d-deserves better than that…than-than me…" His eyes brimmed with tears and Bethany wrapped an arm around his shoulder, gently nudging the mug to encourage him to drink it. Her eyes wandered over to Fenris, who stood watching them, his face pinched with anxiety. Bethany gave the elf a thin smile and turned back to her brother.

"I'm not sure Anders will let you travel like this," she murmured. "Perhaps we could all go outside for a while, leave the two of you alone?"

"No," Hawke asserted, panic in his voice. "I have to tell him in private. I owe him that much, at least. I'm _travelling _whether Anders approves or not. And don't let him knock me out with his medicine!"

"I won't," she soothed. "Do you think you can manage the journey?"

"I'll manage it even if I have to crawl on my hands and knees," he vowed. "I'm not going to lie to Fenris for one more day. Not one more day! Everyone but him knows! I won't let that continue!"

Bethany nodded and stroked Hawke's arm, shushing him. "I'll go and talk to Anders," she said softly. After first ensuring that he'd drunk the medicine, she took the empty mug and walked over to Anders. Fenris remained where he was; although he did not know how, he wondered if he had somehow been the cause of Fletcher's distress, remembering the way Hawke had recoiled from him. He longed to go to Hawke's side, yet he didn't want to upset him further by imposing himself. Instead, he watched helplessly as Hawke again wrapped his arms around his knees, his eyes cast into his lap.

Bethany took Anders aside and lowered her voice. "Fletcher wants to go home."

"Out of the question," insisted Anders, shaking his head. "He still has a high fever and he hasn't had anything to eat. He's too weak."

"He's quite adamant, Anders," she replied. "Look; he needs to speak with Fenris. He's going to tell him…you know."

"That he's…?"

"Yes," Bethany answered. "He's insisting he does it today and he's very distraught about it. Is there anything you can do to strengthen him? I have a feeling he's going to leave whether we want him to or not."

Anders remained silent as he looked over at Fenris, who had not taken his eyes off Hawke since being sent from his side. Satisfaction and righteousness swelled within Anders's chest, knowing that Fenris would be devastated upon learning the truth, and would almost certainly forsake Hawke, but his feeling of triumph was also laced with something ugly, almost unclean, which he chose to ignore.

He laid a comforting hand on Bethany's arm. "I'll think of something, Beth. If telling Fenris today is so important to him, I'll do everything I can to ensure he gets his wish."

"Oh, thank you, Anders," Bethany replied with a relieved sigh, glancing over at her brother. "I'd better go and check on him."

As she went over to Hawke, Anders noticed Fenris walking towards him and had to firmly rein in a smug grin as the elf approached and softly cleared his throat.

"Anders," Fenris said stiffly.

"Fenris."

"I…owe you an apology," the elf began, looking Anders in the eye. "I did not mean to accuse you of not taking proper care of Hawke. I…panicked. You are not to blame for his condition; I know you are doing your best."

Taken aback, Anders gaped for a moment and took a deep breath, composing himself. "Erm…it's all right, Fenris; I think we're all a bit frazzled. Don't…don't worry about it."

Fenris dipped his head a little. "Thank you. And also for everything you have done for him." Fenris cleared his throat again and nodded once before heading over to Varric, where he continued his distant vigil over Hawke.

Anders stared after him, and his stomach flipped, the ugly, unclean sensation intensifying. He pushed it down, and set to work on a new batch of medicine that would hopefully imbue Hawke with enough strength to make the journey home.

~o~O~o~

Once Hawke had taken a few doses of Anders's medicine, he declared that he felt a little stronger, and, with assistance from Anders and Bethany, stood up and took a short walk around the cave, although it was obvious that he was still quite unwell. Anders knew that Hawke wasn't fit enough to journey down the mountain, but helped him to do so anyway, and a temporary truce was reached between him and Fenris, each of whom wrapped an arm around Hawke to support him.

It was decided that several stops would be needed on the way down, and Bethany, Varric and Merrill scouted ahead to ensure that the path was safe and clear. By the time they reached the foot of Sundermount, Hawke was struggling to remain upright, but, despite pleas from Fenris and Bethany to rest at the Dalish camp for the rest of the day, Hawke insisted on pressing on. Anders gave him another dose of his fortifying medicine, but it had little effect.

"You're exhausted, Hawke," Anders told him. "You need to sleep for a while. If you'll let me-"

"You are not putting me to sleep!" Hawke exclaimed with a wild look in his eyes, terrified that he would be visited again. "I can make it home. Now, stop fussing over me and let's get going!"

"Fletcher," Fenris said, gravely concerned that not only was Hawke endangering himself, but also that he hadn't once looked Fenris in the eye since he'd woken from his dream, "Anders is correct. You _must _rest."

"No, Fenris," replied Hawke in a softer tone. "I have to get home. Please, don't argue. Just-just help me." He finally looked at Fenris, and the sadness in his eyes stole Fenris's breath away. "I-I'm sorry, Fen, truly, I am."

"What are you sorry for?" Fenris asked gently. "You have done nothing wrong."

Hawke once again averted his eyes. "I…Beth…I need to speak to Beth. Please."

Fenris and Anders helped Hawke to sit on a tree stump and moved a short distance away while Bethany went over to talk to him.

"Beth, I want you and Varric to go on ahead, warn Mother that we're on our way," he told her.

"Brother," she protested, "you need to rest first. Just have an hour or two…"

Hawke ignored her concerns and continued. "You know that little chest that I brought from Lothering? The locked one?" His eyes moved to his left as he delved into his memory, and he shook his head. "I can't remember where the key is. Varric can pick the lock. Tell him he has my permission. There are a couple of books in there I want you to take out…"

"Books? Fletcher, what are you on about?"

"Just listen to me," he continued. "Remember the books I had when I was a kid? The one about the lazy dog and the one with the farmyard animals?"

A bemused Bethany sighed and nodded. "Yes, I know which ones you mean."

"Take them out and have them ready for when we get back; I want to give them to Fenris...before I tell him. I want him to continue with his reading. He's doing so well, Beth; he-he's really learning fast…I don't want _this _to spoil that."

"Fletcher…you don't know what's going to happen. I'm sure that you and Fenris will come through this, and that you'll be able to continue with his reading lessons."

Hawke shook his head sadly. "No…I-I don't think…" He took a deep breath and straightened up. "Please, Sister, just do as I ask."

"Oh, Fletcher," she sighed. "All right, if that's what you want."

"Thanks, sis. I knew you wouldn't let me down." Hawke slumped in relief, and Bethany went over to the others, who were talking quietly amongst themselves.

"Bethany," Anders whispered, "I'm going to put him to sleep. Fenris has agreed; it's for his own good. We can still make it back before evening. I just want him to get a couple of hours."

Bethany glanced over at her brother, and, knowing how much a visit from Synia disturbed him, she shook her head. "I don't think that's a good idea, Anders. I agree that he needs to rest, but I ask that you don't put him to sleep. He doesn't want to have another _bad dream_," she said pointedly.

"I can induce a dreamless sleep," Anders explained. "I know he'll be pissed off at me, but he has no strength left. There's only so much I can do."

"Hey, someone's coming," Varric muttered, and they all turned to face an elderly male Dalish, who greeted them with a small bow.

"Andaran atish'an, travellers."

Merrill stepped forward and returned his bow. "Andaran atish'an, Hahren." She turned to the others and gestured to the new arrival. "This is Hahren Paival, the elder of my clan."

The others respectfully bowed to Paival. "I see that one of your company is gravely ill," he said with a glance over at Hawke, who was slouched on the tree stump, having nodded off of his own accord. "We have been watching your descent. Keeper Marethari recognises your companion as a friend of the Dalish, and has arranged for a quiet place for him to rest. You are all welcome to stay, but I must ask that _you_ take your leave, da'len," he said to Merrill, although his tone was free of reproach. "I fear your presence is causing unrest among the people."

The group had been so preoccupied with Hawke that they'd failed to notice that the Dalish had formed several small groups around the camp, and some individuals held their weapons ready.

"Abelas, Hahren," Merrill said sadly, hanging her head. "I will leave now, if it helps Hawke."

"We'll go with you, Daisy," Varric said with a nod at Bethany. "I doubt we're needed here."

"Yes, I need to return home, anyway," Bethany added, and she looked over at Fenris, who was too fixated on Hawke to notice. "I'll return a little later."

"So, you will remain with him?" Paival asked Anders and Fenris.

"Yes, ser," Anders answered as Fenris walked over to Hawke and started to gently rouse him.

"Please bring him this way," Paival said with a nod toward a group of small tents. "I will fetch one of our healers. Know you what ails him?"

"I'm a healer, ser, and I've been treating him."

"Then why, may I ask, did you bring him down the mountain?" asked the elder calmly. "The journey has clearly taken a hard toll on him."

"He insisted," Anders replied with a shrug. "He's a healer as well, and thinks he knows best."

"Ah, a story I have heard oft-repeated," said Paival with a grim smile. "Often, healers make the worst patients of all."

Bethany walked over to Fenris and Hawke, who was now awake. "Brother, you're to stay here for a while," she stated.

"No, Beth-" He tried to stand up but his legs gave way, and Fenris lowered him back onto the tree stump.

"You cannot go on," Fenris scolded him. "Even your stubbornness will not carry you."

"I'm _going_ to come back later," Bethany went on, steel behind her soft words, "and I'll bring those _things_ you wanted."

"But, Beth," Hawke protested weakly.

"Do_ not_ argue," Fenris counselled in a conspiratorial whisper. "Your health will surely suffer further should you engage in a battle of wills with a tenacious woman."

Normally, Hawke would have laughed at that, but instead his heart sank as Fenris and Bethany helped him to his feet, and Anders jogged over, taking Bethany's place at her brother's side.

"I'll see you soon, Brother." Bethany kissed Hawke's cheek and gave a vague nod to Fenris and Anders.

"Dareth shiral," the elder said to Bethany's group; he then nodded to Anders and Fenris, and they supported Hawke – who realised the futility of further argument - as they followed Paival into the camp.

~o~O~o~

Hawke's eyes flickered open and he found himself lying on a soft cot inside a small tent, the front of which was open. Just outside, he could see Anders talking to one of the Dalish, who Hawke assumed was a herbalist or healer, as the two men were talking animatedly while exchanging several small pouches and bunches of herbs. The violet tinge to the sky indicated that the sun was about to set, meaning that several hours had passed by.

"You are awake."

Hawke turned to his side to find Fenris, who sat upon a small stool beside the cot, looking down at him. Immediately, a wave of dread crashed against Hawke's insides as the reality of his situation returned to him, and he slumped onto his back, staring at the ceiling of the tent.

"You are a stubborn fool, you know," Fenris remarked quietly, and there was kindness and humour in his voice. "Had you not insisted we travel down the mountain when we did, you may have been fit to attempt the entire journey home by now."

A bitter rasp escaped from Hawke's throat, and he glanced sidelong at Fenris, who was watching him expectantly. "Your colour has returned," said the elf with a tentative smile, and he reached for Hawke's cheek, withdrawing his hand as Hawke visibly stiffened. For a second, Fenris got a taste of how Fletcher must have felt when at first Fenris had shied away from his touch. The elf's smile faded, his expression giving way to the anxiety that Hawke had observed earlier in him, and Hawke closed his eyes, feeling wretchedly guilty.

"Fletcher," Fenris ventured warily, "I realise it is selfish of me to ask this of you when you are ailing…" He cleared his throat and sat up straight. "I wondered…have I…displeased you in some way?"

His eyes still closed, Hawke shook his head emphatically, loath to speak as he was certain his voice would break, but he did so anyway. "No, Fenris…I-" His words ended abruptly as he gasped and clutched at his chest, squeezing his eyes closed.

"Anders!" Fenris barked, and the mage came running inside. "He cannot breathe!" he exclaimed in alarm, grabbing Hawke's hand, feeling utterly useless.

"He's hyperventilating," Anders murmured, helping Hawke to sit up. "I don't get it…his fever's come down, and he wouldn't have dreamed while he was asleep…Hawke!" he said firmly. "You need to take deep breaths!"

"My-my chest!" Hawke choked out, clutching at the front of his robe, grimacing. Anders quickly placed his hands over Hawke's heart and Fenris felt the edges of his markings burning.

"His heart's fine," Anders announced. "I think he's having a panic attack. Hawke! Take deep breaths! Do as I say!"

Fenris watched, feeling all of his control and will fall out from beneath him, as Hawke took several short, gasping breaths, his skin ashen and aglow with sweat.

"You're not going to die; you're safe!" Anders said with authority. "Take a deep breath! You can do it!" Hawke gulped and nodded, and drew a stuttering breath which was released in a harsh burst. "Again!" ordered Anders, his hand on Hawke's shoulder, and Hawke took a deeper breath this time, releasing it more slowly. "That's it…keep going," Anders encouraged. After a few more attempts, Hawke's breathing slowed, and he placed his head in his hands, which were trembling. Fenris finally released the breath he had been holding the entire time. Not until Anders was certain that Hawke had recovered did he speak again.

"Here," Anders said, taking a small piece of what looked like tree bark out of a pouch that hung from his waist. "Chew on this. You'll be fine. I'm going to get you some food; your stomach should be able to take a light meal, now." Hawke slowly removed his hands from his face and took the piece of bark, placing it in his mouth, his mien and posture submissive and defeated.

"Fenris, may I speak to you?" Anders asked the elf in a tone that was more an order than a request, and he walked out of the tent.

Fenris remained where he was for a moment and looked down at Hawke, who, yet again, failed to make eye contact with him. Fear gripped his heart and he blinked several times, realising that his own breathing had quickened. "I will return shortly," he said in barely a whisper, not sure if Hawke even cared, and slowly walked out of the tent towards Anders, who stood with his hands on his hips.

"What did you say to him?" Anders hissed quietly, but the accusation in his words was loud and clear.

"Nothing of import to _you_," Fenris snarled, immediately put on the defensive.

"You must have said something to set him off! People don't have panic attacks for no reason!"

"Not that it is any business of _yours_, but I asked him…" Fenris's face dropped as he considered his question to Hawke. "I merely…" He sighed and looked at the ground. "I asked him if I had done something to displease him. That is all. He-he will not look at me, and I do not know why. If I caused this…I do not know how."

Anders backed down from his belligerent stance and the two men stood in awkward silence for a few minutes. "I don't…I don't think you've done anything wrong, Fenris," Anders said quietly, surprised at the sudden rush of sympathy he felt for the elf; for both Fenris and Hawke.

"I don't understand," Fenris murmured. Although Anders was the last person he would choose to confide in, there was no one else around that Fenris knew, and his confusion and fear got the better of him. "I feel as though…oh, it doesn't matter. I am being selfish. Perhaps you should return to him; he seems to be more comfortable in your company."

Fenris turned his back on Anders and folded his arms, watching the sun set over Sundermount, his shoulders drooping under the weight he felt upon them. Anders stared at the elf for a short while before saying quietly, "His sister will be back soon; she said she'd be here shortly after sundown. Maybe…maybe things will become clearer, then." Receiving no answer from Fenris, he walked over to the Dalish herbalist, who directed him to where he could get a bowl of soup for Hawke.

Bethany and Varric arrived just as the sun dipped behind the mountains, and, after first announcing themselves to Keeper Marethari and Hahren Paival, they were shown to Hawke's tent, finding Fenris standing alone outside.

"He is inside," Fenris told Bethany without preamble, knowing that she would be anxious for news of her brother's condition. "He has eaten and is recovering well."

Bethany nodded and glanced at Varric, who, taking the hint, went inside the tent, leaving Bethany and Fenris alone.

"How are _you_ doing, Fenris?" she asked.

"_Me_? I-I am well, thank you," he replied, surprised and confused that Bethany seemed concerned for him, when her brother could barely talk to him, much less look at him.

Bethany tilted her head slightly and gave Fenris a sympathetic look.

"Do you-" Fenris's heart and breathing once again quickened, and he took a step closer to Bethany, lowering his voice. "You know, don't you? You know something…will you tell me what is going on? Please?"

Bethany sighed and placed her hands on Fenris's arms. "You know that we think a lot of you, don't you, Fenris? My family, I mean. Fletcher…he hasn't been this happy for a long time. All right, I know he doesn't seem happy at the moment, but since he met you, well, I have my old Fletcher back; the one I had before Carver died. That's thanks to you, Fenris. You make him happy, and I want you to know how much I appreciate that."

Fenris's brows knitted together, as her words touched him, but left him even more confused.

"Fletcher…" Bethany sighed again and released Fenris's arms. "He's going to talk to you about something. Will you do a favour for me?"

Fenris, still baffled, nodded silently.

"Just listen to him," she said softly. "Hear him out. What he has to tell you will not be easy for you to hear, nor will it be easy for him to say. He loves you, Fenris, and wouldn't hurt you for the world."

"He…?" Fenris's mouth gaped open and he stared at Bethany, lost for words.

She nodded. "Please remember that. And also remember that he's a good man. We all make mistakes." Fearing that she'd said too much, Bethany backed away a step. "I'm just going to pop inside, and then we'll give you some privacy. I won't be long."

Leaving a bewildered Fenris behind, she entered the tent, emerging a short time later with Anders and Varric, whom she'd instructed to look as nonchalant as possible.

"We're going for a walk around the camp," she announced.

"Are we?" Anders asked, feigning ignorance.

"Yes," she said firmly, and gave a brief nod to Fenris as they walked away.

His eyes followed them until they were a distance away, and then his gaze slowly wandered over to the tent. He was about to get the answers he so desperately sought, and yet his feet remained fixed in place. Something awaited him within that tent that he wasn't sure he wanted to face; that he wasn't sure he _could _face. He suspected what it was: this was what he'd feared all along, but he'd allowed himself to be carried along on fanciful notions of love, companionship and trust. He _should _have been better prepared for when Fletcher told him. That he wasn't good enough for him. That he didn't want to get serious. That it had all been a mistake.

But then Bethany's words came back to him and his eyes once again sought her out, but she, Varric and Anders were out of sight. He sighed. Why would Fletcher be ending it if he _loved _Fenris as his sister claimed?

Closing his eyes for a moment, he swallowed hard and opened them again, staring at the tent. He took one step forward, then another, looking down at his feet, clad in the slippers Fletcher's mother had made for him.

_You do know that we think a lot of you, don't you, Fenris?_

~o~O~o~

Fletcher sat on the edge of his cot, turning the books over in his hands, wishing he'd taken better care of them. They were dog-eared and faded, and one book was missing its cover. Hardly a fitting gift for the man he-

He tutted and placed them to his side, running his fingers through his hair. Why had Beth insisted on bringing them here? Why had she gone all that way and back just for a couple of books? Why had he thought this was a good idea in the first place? What was he supposed to say to Fenris?

_Hey, Fenris, I'm a blood mage, but here, have some tatty books. They should make you feel so much better!_

"Idiot," he growled under his breath. "You stupid fucking idiot."

The front covering of the tent was quietly pulled back, and Hawke's breath caught as Fenris entered, his eyes cast downwards. He carefully closed the cover and straightened it out, hesitating before turning toward Hawke and forcing himself to look up.

Hawke met his eyes for the first time that day.

"Fenris," he said quietly, discreetly pushing the books out of sight.

"Fletcher." Fenris nodded once and folded his hands across his belly, still standing at the entrance. "You are looking well. Do you feel any better?"

There was a rough, terse quality to Fenris's voice and Hawke nodded, gesturing to the stool next to the cot. "Come in, Fenris," he invited.

Fenris looked at the stool and decided it was too close to Fletcher. He could at least maintain a sliver of control by choosing to keep some distance between them. "I…will stand. You wanted to speak to me?"

It then finally dawned on Hawke that Fenris knew something was wrong. Of _course _he knew: Hawke had flinched at his touch and had refused to look him in the eye all day, after Fenris had opened his heart to him only the night before. The poor man must be beside himself. Hawke felt a fluttering in his chest and took a few deep breaths, releasing them slowly, as Anders had advised if he felt anxiety building within him again.

Fenris cocked his head slightly and took a step forward. "Are you well? Should I fetch Anders?"

"No. I-I don't want Anders." _I want _you_. I _love_ you and I'm about to ruin everything. Why didn't I tell you from the start? _"Fenris, I have to tell you something that I should have told you when we first met. For what it's worth, that is the worst mistake I've ever made; even greater than the one I'm about to tell you about, and I regret it more with each moment that passes."

Fenris remembered Bethany mentioning a mistake, and also that Fenris should hear Fletcher out. A glimmer of hope warmed his belly; perhaps Fletcher was not about to end things between them, after all?

"Is this what you were talking about last night?" Fenris asked, taking another step closer. "When you alluded to having a 'dark side'? I told you then that it would not matter; whatever it is, it will not change anything. You have seen the worst of me and I will accept the worst of you. Is that not what…couples do?"

Hawke faced away from Fenris, fighting back tears that Fenris considered them a _couple_, and angrily told himself to get a grip. _He_ had no right to be upset.

"Fletcher?" Fenris's voice was full of concern and Hawke held a hand up, once again following the breathing exercises.

"Fenris…" Hawke turned to face him but couldn't bring himself to look at him. "Please, I want you to sit down."

With a slow nod, Fenris took a seat on the small stool, facing the entrance, while Hawke sat at a right angle to him. "Tell me," Fenris urged softly, his head turned toward Hawke.

For a moment, Hawke considered trying to soften the blow by telling Fenris exactly how much he meant to him, that he was in love with him, but what good would that do? And did he have the right to burden Fenris with yet more emotional baggage? Fenris needed to be free to choose without _that _millstone around his neck.

Hawke sat further back on the cot, putting as much distance between them as he could. Not because he feared that Fenris would lash out, but because he felt that _Fenris _would need that space.

"Oh, Maker…" Hawke brought his hands up to his face, covering his nose and mouth. "When-when I was younger, I…no, no. I promised myself I wouldn't string this out. I…Fenris…I-I know blood magic. I made a deal with a demon several years ago."

Song and soft laughter drifted into the tent from outside; the Dalish were taking supper and giving thanks to the Creator for their bounty. Inside the tent, however, the silence was stark, penetrating, absolute; the air within was still, eerily so, and Hawke recalled being caught in the eye of a hurricane on the farm when was a lad. Everything seemed to have stopped.

Fenris, too, had stilled. He was as a statue, the rise and fall of his chest barely discernible. Hawke nervously glanced up at him but the elf's expression was partly hidden by his hair, which fell across his eyes. Only the hard set of his mouth and jaw were visible.

"I-I know this must be a terrible shock to you, Fenris," Hawke said, his voice thick. "I want you to know that I didn't keep it from you for malicious reasons. I didn't know that things would…you and I…I never imagined that things would…that we'd become so close. And by the time I realised that I had feelings for you, I felt I'd left it too late. Every day since then I've agonised over telling you. I've wanted to. I…" He stopped himself. Fenris didn't need to know how it had affected Hawke. It was nobody's fault but Hawke's that he'd left it so long.

"Tell me," Fenris uttered, his voice a distant rumble of thunder: barely audible, but with a latent menace. "Tell me this is one of your…jokes."

"I'm sorry," Hawke breathed, his voice and hands quaking.

The silence resumed and stretched out between them; although only a few feet separated them, that short distance now seemed an impassable gulf. Hawke longed to bridge that gulf, to reach out and make contact with a touch or a word, but somehow knew he should not violate Fenris's space without an invitation to do so.

Fenris, whose posture betrayed no signs of anger or melancholy, sat up slightly and licked his lips, his face still partially obscured. "Why are you telling me this now?" There was injury in his voice, and Hawke knew he must tread carefully: the most dangerous animal was a wounded one.

"Because I can't go on lying to you."

"Yes. That is precisely what you have been doing."

Hawke nodded, knowing that all of the effort it had taken for Fenris to trust someone – particularly a mage – had just been destroyed, as surely as any feelings for Hawke that Fenris had. "I know," Hawke whispered. "If it means anything at all, I'm…sorry. You have no idea how much."

Fenris pushed himself up with such speed that it startled Hawke, and started to pace, but did not look in Hawke's direction. "You _cannot_ be a blood mage. I have never seen you use it. Even in the direst of situations you have not called upon it. If this is your idea of a _joke_, Hawke, I do not find it amusing in the slightest!"

Hawke flinched at the use of his family name as opposed to _Fletcher_, and drew a steadying breath, though it did little to calm his shredded nerves. "I learned it when I was a young lad," he related. "I used it once and have never used it again. I never _intend _to use it again. It was a terrible mistake and I want nothing to do with it."

"And does your _demon_-" Fenris's voice wavered and he straightened himself up, his back to Hawke. "And does your demon have nothing to say about that? It quite happily accepts that you are not sustaining it? You are telling me that, are you?"

"I would have no part of her if I had a choice," Hawke replied. "But no, she is not at all happy, and she sometimes visits me in the Fade, where she takes great pleasure in insulting my loved ones or dredging up painful memories. She visited me last night, and that is why I was so upset earlier today. You did nothing wrong, Fenris, and I'm deeply sorry if I gave you that impression. I knew I had to tell you and I just couldn't look you in the eye."

"It _visits _you?" Fenris asked in disgust, shaking his head. "So, while I was worrying over you having a nightmare, you were, in fact, consorting with it?"

"I had no choice!" Hawke protested. "I have no control over when she visits me. She usually turns up at times of emotional stress, just to stick the knife in. I'm not friends with her, trust me."

"So, I am meant to pity you? This is why you are telling me?" demanded Fenris, still facing the entrance, his arms crooked at his sides, his hands clenched.

"No," Hawke whispered. "You shouldn't feel sorry for me. I-I know how badly I've hurt you…"

"You have no idea!" Fenris wheeled around, his eyes bright with fury and full of anguish. "No idea at all, Hawke! I thought…" Hawke stood up, aghast, as tears coated Fenris's eyes and the elf once again turned away from him, releasing a shaky sigh. "I thought you were different."

"I _am_ different," entreated Hawke, his own eyes blurred with tears. "Will you let me tell you what happened? Why I did it?"

"Why you _did_ it? What other reason could there be? You were offered power and you took it. Do not claim any noble reason for treating with a demon. You would insult both of us by doing so."

"I _didn't _do it for power!" Hawke exclaimed, anger creeping into his voice. "I did it to help someone! We're not all like Danarius, Fenris! I'm sorry, but we're not!"

"You didn't do it for power," Fenris repeated wearily. "You would not believe how many times I have heard that."

"Please, Fenris, just let me explain-"

"No. I have no wish to hear your excuses," Fenris spat, and his stomach lurched, hot, nauseating bile rising in his gullet. "I…need some air."

"Of-of course," Hawke said, clearing his throat. "If you…if you want to go, I'll understand."

Fenris slowly turned around, his icy glare causing Hawke to start. "_Go_? Do you think so little of me that you believe I would _abandon_ you while you are_ ill_?"

"No, I-I didn't mean that, Fenris-"

"My _word _is not given lightly, Hawke," Fenris seethed, his eyes flashing. "Perhaps you should consider what that _means_." Fenris's jaw, as well as his hands, had started to tremble, and, without another word, he turned and threw back the flap of the tent, stalking away into the darkness.

Avoiding the eyes of the Dalish, most of whom were sat around a huge fire that had been built in the centre of the camp, Fenris slunk behind Master Ilen's store, which had been closed for the day. Leaning against the wooden counter, he slid to the ground, his mind careering, unable to hold a thought for long before it slipped away, another taking its place in the blink of an eye.

There had been signs, hints, that Fletcher was a blood mage, but Fenris had chosen to dismiss them as the workings of his imagination, the product of _his _mistrust. The strongest hint yet had come during the confrontation with Hadriana, when the Dalish blood mage and Fletcher had descried sigils of magic that Bethany could not, but Fenris had been too consumed with putting an end to Hadriana to pay much heed.

He should have paid heed. He _should _have known. He'd let his misguided feelings for Hawke blind him to what he really was. Fenris told himself he'd been a gullible fool. Hawke was no different from any other mage Fenris had ever encountered: weak, selfish and with an innate craving for power that Hawke could no more resist than Fenris could have prevented himself from falling in love with the man who'd just broken his heart. Humiliation, rage and grief manifested themselves as a raw, biting pain in his chest, and his face contorted, his body rocking gently as he wrapped his arms around himself.

He _should _hate Hawke. He _should _put as much distance between them as possible, he knew that. But he'd given his word to stand at his side. And the reason he'd done that?

Because he couldn't imagine life without him.

A fresh film of tears coated his eyes as he gazed up at the starless sky, and felt its vast emptiness fill him.

"What do I do now?" he implored the night.


	42. Chapter 42

Following their walk around the camp, Bethany and Varric sat beside the fire, where they chatted pleasantly with some of the Dalish. Although a few members of the clan were wary of their guests, the majority were polite at the very least, and a handful – notably the younger elves – were fascinated to see a human _and_ a dwarf together, and bombarded the couple with questions.

Bethany had chosen her spot for a reason: she had a clear view of Fletcher's tent from where she and Varric sat, and had seen Fenris leave hurriedly only a few minutes earlier. She allowed a faint hope to enter her heart, though, when Fenris had remained in the camp. Although she felt desperately sad for both men, and longed to offer them her counsel, she thought it best to leave them alone for a while; a sentiment that was echoed by Varric, who had said very little on the matter so far, but Bethany knew he was keeping an eye on things.

Anders had fallen quiet earlier and now sat on his own, a distance away from the main group. Bethany also kept a close eye on him, although when she noticed him talking to himself, she stopped glancing in his direction, not wanting to draw attention to him.

The Dalish shared their supper with the couple, and, wanting to reciprocate, Bethany and Varric shared their dried rations among the group. Soon, another song was called for, and, while they didn't know the words, they smiled and clapped, although Bethany's smile was a little forced.

With supper over, Bethany assisted in cleaning up, while Varric attempted to widen his network by informing several Dalish of sure-fire investment opportunities that only he was privy to. After a good-natured but firm warning from Hahren Paival, he shrugged his shoulders and decided to take another walk around the camp, but was surprised when the Hahren called him back and took him aside.

"Your friend," the clan elder said quietly with a nod toward Anders, who seemed to be having a heated conversation with himself. "He appears…troubled. Is he well?"

Varric groaned and glanced over to Hawke's tent, shaking his head. "Youngsters these days…they seem to have the weight of the world on their shoulders. Don't mind Blondie: he wouldn't hurt a fly. Best to leave him be; I'll keep an eye on him."

With a nod, Paival bade Varric goodnight, and the dwarf once again sat next to the fire while he waited for Bethany to return, ensuring he had a good view of Anders, Master Ilan's store and Hawke's tent.

~o~O~o~

"_You have not only let yourself down, Anders, but you have disappointed me, also. I had thought you better than this."_

"Look! He _wanted_ to come down the mountain. I didn't force him!"

"_I sensed your glee when it became apparent that Hawke would confess his status as a maleficar to the elf. From that point onward, your spirits brightened and you made no effort to dissuade Hawke, even though, as a healer, you knew a journey down the mountain would be perilous for him. You placed him in danger."_

"Even his own sister said that he would have taken off on his own! How much danger do you think he would have been in, then?"

"_Even now, you persist in lying to yourself. Do not presume that you can lie to _me_. I see into your heart, Anders. You placed the wellbeing of one who will someday be very important to us beneath that of your desire to gloat at the elf's distress. Do not forget, Anders, that Hawke is equally distressed."_

"You can't blame me for that! They would have been distressed wherever it had happened! Hawke should have told him from the start, anyway. And it's hardly my fault that Fenris can't see past the end of his own nose, is it? Who was there for Hawke when he fell ill? When Fenris went off in a huff?"

"_Even then, your motives were not as pure as you would delude yourself into believing. You took great pleasure in reminding the elf of that fact, and you offered him no sympathy whatsoever."_

"Sympathy? You think I should have been sympathetic to Fenris after he dumped Hawke – who was critically injured, I'll remind you – to go off for a sulk?"

"_The elf was not aware of the extent of Hawke's injuries. You are aware of this fact. I do not see why you continue to deceive yourself. You endangered Hawke by allowing your personal feelings to interfere. And yet, you _knew_ you had done wrong. I felt it when the elf spoke to you not long ago. You continue to err, yet you learn nothing from your mistakes. You _must _be stronger, Anders. You are no longer the man I once knew and I fear for you."_

"You-you _fear _for me?"

"_This is the third similar conversation we have had and still you have no desire to rise above yourself, to be a better man. Soon, we will put what we have discussed into action. At that time, you must be stronger than all else who surround you, or you will surely fall, and everything we have worked for will fail."_

Anders drew his knees up and rested his elbows against them, his chin on his hands. "All right. I can see what you're trying to say. What do you want me to do, then?"

"_You must make amends to Hawke and the elf."_

"And…how do you suggest I do that?"

"_You will assist them in their time of need. Make them see that they function better as a unit than separately."_

"Wait…you want me to help them get back together?"

"_Your personal feelings do not enter into this. What you think of the elf is irrelevant; Hawke will not function well without him at his side. You must be seen to be gracious. To revel in their misfortune is beneath you. You must be a friend to both of them. Be the better man, Anders."_

"I-I don't know if I can do that."

"_You _must_. I will say no more on this matter. _Do not_ continue to let yourself down, Anders."_

"Let myself down, or disappoint you?" Anders asked, but no further answers were forthcoming from Justice. Feeling uneasy at the spirit's unusually-stern tone, he drew his knees closer to his chest and watched as the Dalish began to drift toward their tents for the night. Next, he looked over at Hawke's tent; the light within had cast a silhouette of his friend against one side of the tent, and Hawke hadn't moved at all since Fenris's hasty departure. He remained in the same position: sitting on the edge of the cot, his hands in his lap and his head bowed.

With a sigh, Anders pushed himself up and walked over to Hawke's tent. "I'll be a friend to both of them if I _must_, but I'm a friend to Hawke _first_."

Hawke glanced up, a brief hope in his eyes as Anders entered the tent, before the hope quickly waned and Hawke once again lowered his head, releasing a long sigh.

"If you've come to tell me I'm better off without him, don't bother," Hawke said, sounding angrier than he'd intended.

Anders slowly walked over to the stool, moved it a little further away from Hawke and sat down. "I wasn't. I just want you to know I'm here."

Hawke nodded, feeling a little guilty, but not so guilty he felt the need to apologise. Although he rarely put stock in anything Synia said to him, something in her warning about Anders had unnerved him, and he wondered if there was an ulterior motive for Anders's concern. "Is Fenris all right? Has anyone spoken to him?" he asked without looking up.

"He sodded off…I mean, he went behind the craftsman's store. I think we've all just left him to it."

"He didn't leave, then," Hawke whispered, a faraway look in his eyes.

"No, he didn't," replied Anders flatly.

"Surprised?" Hawke sniped, and Anders took a slow, deep breath, reining in his irritation. The last thing he'd expected Fenris to do was stay put.

"Well, if I'm honest, yes," he answered with a shrug. "After what happened with Hadriana…"

"You're not still harping on about that, are you?" Hawke's tone was frosty, accusatory, and Anders, remembering how prickly Hawke could be when upset, swallowed down his own hurt.

"I'm sorry, Hawke. I'm not helping. I'm a bloke; we're not very good at stuff like this, are we?"

Hawke ran his hand through his hair and groaned. "No…_I'm_ sorry, Anders. Look, I'm probably not the best company at the moment."

"That's all right, Hawke. Like I said, I'm here for you, bad company or not. Talk to me. Get it off your chest."

There was a soothing, gentle quality to Anders's voice. Hawke knew it well: it was a healer's voice, the same one he used with frightened or high-strung patients. Despite Hawke's misgivings about Anders, he began to relax a little, and, coupled with his need to confide in someone, he fairly blurted his words out. "Oh, Anders…I want to go to him, try and talk to him, but every time I go to get up, my legs won't work."

"Well, maybe that's telling you it may not be a good idea. Not yet, anyway. I think you'd both benefit from a bit of space at the moment," Anders counselled.

"I don't _want_ space. I want to be with him. I want…Maker, Anders, I love him. I can't-I can't believe I've made such a mess of everything. I've hurt him, destroyed his trust. I would rather he left me than to have done that to him."

For a while, Anders said nothing. Hawke had been correct: Anders _did_ believe that Hawke was better off without Fenris, and his declaration of love for the elf had stung him, but he recalled Justice's words and repeated them over and over in his head.

_You must be seen to be gracious. Be the better man._

"If you love him, Hawke, then you can't give up on him," Anders said, barely able to believe what he was saying.

Hawke raised his head a little. "You think?"

Anders nodded, feeling a crushing weariness settle over him. "You need to make him see that the two of you are better as a unit than separate," he advised, repeating Justice's words. "And you need to make him understand that not all blood mages are inherently evil. He's gotten to know you, and I think deep down he realises that. He's just hurt at the moment. He'll come round, I think, but you need to help him."

Feeling awful for doubting Anders, Hawke sighed and reached for one of his hands, giving it a squeeze. "I-I didn't expect you to say something like that. You're a true friend."

The ugly feeling Anders had experienced earlier swelled inside him again, and he squeezed Hawke's hand back before gently releasing it. "You-you're welcome."

"Maybe tomorrow, when we're home," Hawke said quietly, a deep frown knotting his brow. "I don't think he'll want to talk to me just yet."

Anders nodded again, and they sat together, saying no more.

~o~O~o~

"Fenris?"

The elf looked up sharply and scrambled to his feet, uncertainty in his eyes as he took a step back.

"I hope I didn't startle you," said Bethany softly. "I just wanted to see if you were all right."

Fenris said nothing, not taking his eyes off Bethany once. She cautiously stepped closer and lifted her robe a little as she went to sit on the ground.

"Wait," Fenris instructed, and he looked around, his eyes settling on the large square of fabric that covered Master Ilen's counter. He removed it and warily passed it to Bethany. "The ground is damp," he told her.

"Thank you, Fenris," she said warmly, and, placing the fabric onto the wet grass, she sat down upon it. "You're a gentleman. Varric didn't think to do that."

Fenris nodded curtly and remained standing.

"Won't you sit with me?" she asked. "You're more than welcome to sit on this," she said, pointing at the cloth, "although…"

"I am fine where I am, but thank you," he replied, and slowly sat down on the ground, several feet away from her.

Bethany noticed the look in Fenris's eyes and was reminded of the way he'd looked at her when they'd first met. "In case you're wondering, Fenris, I'm not a blood mage. It's up to you whether you believe that or not."

"Your brother did not profess to being a blood mage, either," he replied tightly.

"You're right; he didn't. I know he kept the truth from you, but, if you'd asked him directly, he wouldn't have lied to you, Fenris."

"And you expect me to believe that?" he scoffed.

"Yes."

Fenris shook his head incredulously. "Your brother-"

"His name is Fletcher."

"Your _brother_ kept the truth from me; you have just said as much. _That _is the same as lying. He _knew _my feelings about blood magic – blood _mages _– and he-he…he pursued me still; he led me to believe that…"

"That he loves you? Well, he does. So can you understand why it was so difficult for him to tell you?"

"Many things are _difficult_, Bethany. That does not mean we should _avoid_ them. Being _honourable _is not easy but that does not mean-"

"You will _not_ imply that Fletcher is a dishonourable man again, Fenris. I know you're hurt, but so is he. You have no idea how hard it was for him to tell you. You have no idea of the sacrifices he's made because of one stupid mistake. You have _no idea_ what he did for my family when Father died. He was sixteen and he was suddenly the head of the family. He had to look after Mother, who fell apart, as well as Carver and I, and we weren't much better. He was strong for us. He's a _good _man and I owe him everything, and I will _not _sit here and listen to you _besmirch_ his character!"

Bethany stopped and turned away slightly, shocked at how emotional she'd become. Fenris's eyes fell to the ground, and he found himself at a loss, never before having seen Bethany so riled.

"He's a good man," she reiterated in a softer tone, turning to face Fenris again. "All I want is for him to be happy; Maker knows he's been through the mill and he deserves it. He's the happiest I've ever seen him since he met you, Fenris. And I _know _he makes you happy, as well. I just don't want either of you to throw that away because of something that happened over eleven years ago; something that Fletcher had regretted every day of his life since. Shouldn't he be given a second chance? Don't we all deserve that?"

"I…meant no offence," mumbled Fenris, his eyes still fixed on the ground.

"I know," Bethany sighed. "I'm sorry, Fenris. I've just been worried about him…as have you. Did Fletcher tell you? How he acquired…?"

"No." Fenris shook his head, his expression hardening. "It does not matter how-"

"It _does _matter," insisted Bethany, "and _I'm_ going to tell you."

"I do not wish-"

"You're going to hear it whether you want to or not," Bethany said firmly. "If I'm correct, your good manners prevent you from rising until I do. So we're both going to sit here, and you _are _going to listen to me."

"You are as stubborn as your brother," said Fenris shortly.

"I'm _more _stubborn," she proclaimed, and shifted into a more comfortable position. "In Lothering, our farm neighboured the Bradshaws' farm. Their parents were good friends with mine, and me, Fletcher and Carver played with their kids. We all grew up together."

She glanced at Fenris to make sure he was listening.

"It was a poorly-kept secret in the village that three apostates resided at our house," she went on, "but the Templars didn't have a clue; the other villagers knew us and didn't care, and the Bradshaws' farm was right on the edge of the village. Occasionally, the Templars would ride through, and one of the Bradshaw kids would be sent running over to warn us. It was usually Dalton; he was the fastest runner, and he was friends with my brothers, but was especially close to Fletcher."

Fenris's expression remained unchanged, but he did appear to be listening.

"Dalton used to get picked on by some of the older kids in the village," she continued. "He was a very shy boy and only really ever opened up to Fletcher. Fletcher even had suspicions at one point that Dalton was a mage, but Dalton always denied it. He _was_ troubled by something, though; I can see that clearly now I'm older. At the time, though, it just seemed…normal.

"Fletcher and Carver used to chase the bullies off most of the time, but now and again Dalton would show up with fresh bruises and cuts. We all knew who the culprit was: Langston Harding," she recalled sourly. "He came from a rough family on the other side of the village. He really seemed to have it in for poor Dalton, but I think he did it to wind up Fletcher and Carver; I suspect he was jealous of their popularity."

Bethany shifted and sighed, again checking that Fenris was paying attention. "It was around that time that Fletcher confided in me. I…had an idea, anyway, that he preferred men over women, but he confirmed it when he told me that he had feelings for Dalton. He was very confused about it and felt it was wrong; Mother was always going on about how we'd all get married and give her loads of grandchildren. Fletcher felt that that was what he was supposed to do, and that he'd let Mother and Father down by having those kind of feelings."

Bethany noticed a frown form on Fenris's brow.

"Fletcher started avoiding Dalton, believing that if he didn't see him, then he'd forget about him, but, of course, he couldn't. One night, we heard yelling coming from Fletcher and Carver's bedroom. We all rushed in and found Fletcher huddled in a corner, and Carver was bent over him, fretting. Apparently, he'd had a terrible nightmare, but it wasn't until a long time after that I knew what it had been about."

Fenris straightened up and his eyes narrowed a little. "His demon had visited him?"

"_A_ demon, yes," Bethany corrected. "She wasn't _his _yet, if you see what I mean. Well, what happened was…" She shook her head and closed her eyes for a second before opening them again. "She'd visited Fletcher in the Fade, having taken on Dalton's form. She…seduced him, Fenris. Fletcher thought it was a dream so he did nothing to stop it. It wasn't until afterwards that the demon showed itself. Fletcher was terrified. He'd been visited before – we both had – but Father had instructed us what to do. However, Fletcher had had no idea that demons could assume other people's forms.

"Apparently, she offered to teach him mind control, which would mean that he could _persuade _Dalton, or any other, to have sex with him; to do anything he wanted, in fact. Fletcher _refused_, Fenris. He absolutely refused. Fletcher would _never_ use mind control on anyone."

"So…he accepted an alternative offer?"

Bethany's head fell back and she massaged the nape of her neck. "He didn't hear from the demon again until a few days later. There was a commotion outside, and we saw two men carrying a lad over to the Bradshaws'. Fletcher and I went out to see who it was."

"It was the boy?" asked Fenris.

Bethany nodded. "It was Dalton. It turned out that Langston had been insulting Fletcher and Dalton had stood up to him. The bastard beat him to a pulp. We ran inside to fetch Father, who told the two men to bring Dalton inside. Father and Fletcher worked on him while I was sent over to the Bradshaw farm to get his parents. Dalton was in a bad way."

"And…did he die?"

"No. Fletcher and Father saved him. Fletcher swore he'd get even, but, back then, Fletcher was a fifteen-year old mage and Langston was eighteen, and built like a brick shithouse. He was always threatening to run to the Templars, and he held that over Fletcher, so Fletcher knew he couldn't just turn up at his house and pick a fight."

"So, he sought out the demon."

"No, she sought _him _out. She told him that she could fix it so Langston would never harm Dalton or anyone ever again. Fletcher was so angry, and felt so helpless, and I'm certain she picked right up on that. This time, he accepted. He told her that he didn't want anyone killed, though, and that it would only be a one-time thing. She told him that her services didn't come without a price, though. Maker, Fletcher…"

Fenris sat bolt upright. "What was the price?"

"Fletcher."

"What do you mean?" Fenris demanded.

"She-she said she would come for him at a later time…on his fiftieth birthday, to be precise."

"She will _come _for him? Do you mean she will take possession of him?"

Bethany nodded sadly.

Fenris quickly pushed himself to his feet, turned his back to Bethany and dragged his fingers through his hair. Bethany could see the tension building in his shoulders and braced herself for a fierce reaction.

"Of all the irresponsible, reckless…!" Fenris slowly turned around and Bethany was dismayed at the look in his eyes: equal parts terror and fury. "Does he have no conception of what will…?" He blinked, realising he was raising his voice, and took a few breaths. Bethany could see that he was shaking and didn't know whether anger, fear or something else was causing it. "Does he not realise what he will become?" Fenris asked, although he knew that both Bethany and Fletcher must be painfully aware of the answer. "He will-will…an…abomination…" Fenris once again turned his back on Bethany and shook his head repeatedly. Slowly, she got to her feet but did not approach him.

"Fenris…Fletcher plans on taking his own life well before his fiftieth birthday."

She heard the rapid expulsion of air from his lungs and he leaned heavily against the counter, feeling like he'd taken a blow to the chest. "He-he…?"

"He's always known that's what he'll have to do," she replied, her voice wavering. "He has no intention of sticking to their deal, of letting her possess him. I suppose, in that respect, he _is_ being dishonourable, but it's for an honourable reason."

Fenris stood in stunned silence, barely able to take it all in. Bethany watched him carefully and waited until his breathing had slowed.

"Do you see now, Fenris, that not all deals of this kind are made with the acquisition of power in mind?" she asked him, taking a few hesitant steps closer. "Fletcher made the deal because he wanted to protect someone who was dear to him. Yes, he was misguided. Yes, he was stupid. But he was fifteen, Fenris, and had fallen in love for the first time in his life. Don't underestimate how powerful that can be. He would have done _anything_ to keep Dalton safe, even pay the ultimate price."

"Fifty?" Fenris whispered, and turned around to face Bethany. "Is there nothing that can be done?"

She shook her head. "The demon wasn't stupid. Fletcher's powers are suspended while he's in her domain. He can't touch her. And Maker knows I've tried to enter. She's made his life hell, and I'd love nothing more than to shut her up for good, but I can't get anywhere near her. Obviously, we can't go to the Circle or the Chantry. They'd either execute him or make him tranquil. He's stuck with her."

Feeling weary, Bethany sat back down and, after several minutes of silent pacing, Fenris joined her, this time sitting on the square of fabric, but still maintaining a distance of a few feet.

"This…demon…took advantage of him," Fenris said after a while. "_Violated _him."

"Yes, I suppose you could call it rape," she answered plainly, and then, seeing him flinch at her words, she recalled Hadriana's implication that Fenris and Danarius had been sexually involved. Realisation slammed into her, and she longed to comfort Fenris, but doing so would call attention to the fact that she knew, and so she remained quiet.

"What did the demon do to…Langston?" he asked, and saw Bethany shake her head from the corner of his eye. "I need to know everything, Bethany."

"All right, then." Bending her knees, she shifted slightly onto her side so she faced Fenris, and moved a little closer to him, noting with relief that he didn't move away from her. "Fletcher has only ever talked about this once, and he was distraught at the time, so some of the details are sketchy. He's refused to talk about it since."

"I understand," Fenris replied.

"The demon – Synia – told Fletcher how to summon her; he had to make a sacrifice of his own blood, enough to cause him severe pain-"

"I am aware of how blood magic works," Fenris interrupted, and immediately held a hand up in apology. "I…please continue."

"Well, to cut a long story short, Fletcher went looking for Langston one night and, when he found him, he summoned Synia. Fletcher thought…he thought she'd just scare him, or…oh, I don't know. But she did something to him. Something…to his mind. That's the part Fletcher won't talk about. Langston was never the same afterwards. He became a recluse and lost loads of weight. A few months after, he disappeared and his family moved out of Lothering shortly after. Rumour was, he was put in the madhouse.

"I don't know what Synia did to Langston, but Fletcher went missing for a few hours afterwards. Dalton eventually found him, crying his eyes out in the Bradshaws' barn. Fletcher told him what he'd done, expecting Dalton to run off, or for someone to fetch the Templars. That's what he felt he deserved. But Dalton didn't run off. He stayed with Fletcher, and he cried, too. They…Fletcher kissed him, and…well, you can guess the rest. Fletcher confessed all of this to me and my father when he came home. Everything just came pouring out. I think Fletcher expected…wanted to be punished."

"And how did your father react?"

"He was very calm," replied Bethany. "I could tell he was disappointed that Fletcher had been taken in by a demon, but Fletcher's distress was at the forefront of his mind, and he was gentle with him. Firstly, he told Fletcher that Mother was never to know; not about Fletcher's…proclivities, but about the deal and what had happened to Langston. Fletcher readily agreed with that; the last thing he wanted was for Mother to worry. Then, Father asked me to leave, and he and Fletcher had a private talk. I don't know what it was about, but they were in there for hours. Fletcher has never talked about that, either."

Bethany frowned, then, and glanced gravely at Fenris. "The worst is yet to come," she said very softly, and took a deep breath. "The following morning…" She placed a hand over her eyes and shook her head, and Fenris watched her with concern, waiting patiently for her to continue. "Well, details are unnecessary. Poor Dalton…he…he was found hanged."

The chirp of nocturnal insects could be heard rising above the sudden silence that fell over them. Fenris cleared his throat and cautiously asked, "Why? Why did he do such a thing?"

"We never found out," she answered, a tremor in her voice. "Fletcher-Fletcher always thought it was his fault. That Dalton was ashamed of what they'd done, or that he'd…_been _with a blood mage. Fletcher has _always _blamed himself."

"He was not to blame."

"I know that, but Fletcher was the last person to see him alive. His mother and father had gone to the town dance, and their kids were old enough to be left to see to their own suppers and to take themselves to bed. Poor, poor Mrs. Bradshaw. She was the one who found him. Her own son."

"How did…Fletcher react?" Fenris asked, and then felt foolish for asking such a stupid question. "I mean…how was he?"

"You called him Fletcher," Bethany said with a thin smile. Fenris averted his eyes and didn't answer. "He…well, he was a wreck for the first week or so. He wouldn't stop crying. It was very hard. Mother was beside herself with worry. It took him a while, but eventually he managed to pull himself together. I think he did it for Mother's sake more than anyone's. And then, only a few months later, a week after Fletcher's sixteenth birthday…F-Father died. That was a very bad time."

Fenris's eyes were wide as he watched Bethany rest her chin on her hands. He saw her lip wobble, but she composed herself, and Fenris admired her dignity.

"May I fetch you some water?" he offered.

"Thank you," she answered.

Fenris got up and walked into the centre of the camp, where he drew some rainwater from one of the barrels, and carried it over to Bethany, who was standing when he returned. She took the water with a grateful nod, and, when she'd drunk it, she placed the small cup down.

"How do you feel, Fenris?" she asked.

"I…" He shook his head, at a loss.

"Confused?"

He nodded slowly. "I am…glad you told me. It could not have been easy for you."

"I'm going to see Fletcher, now. Would you like to come with me?"

Fenris drew back a little and shook his head. "I would not know what to say. I-I need some time."

"You don't have to say anything, Fenris. It would mean a lot to him to know that you don't hate him…if that's the case."

"I-I can't. I…need to think. I'm sorry."

"It has been a lot for you to take in, Fenris, I understand," Bethany said kindly. "Is there anything you want me to tell him?"

Fenris drew a deep breath and glanced over to Hawke's tent, and then to his own, which was pitched a short distance away.

He took another deep breath and nodded. "Tell him…tell him…I don't hate him."

"I will," she said with a hopeful smile.

"Goodnight, Bethany."

"Goodnight, Fenris."

She watched him walk over to his tent and, once he'd gone inside, she walked over to Hawke's tent, and entered with a smile on her face.


	43. Chapter 43

_Because I'm an idiot and keep forgetting, I would like to give huge thanks and acknowledgement to Shakespira, a ridiculously talented author who publishes on this very site. Not only does she beta for me, she makes a substantial contribution to the story with her wonderful suggestions and ideas, and it wouldn't be the same without her._

_I'd also like to thank all of you for your reviews, favourites and alerts. It makes my day to hear when someone enjoys reading the story as much as I enjoy writing it. :-)_

~o~O~o~

"You know, Hawke, I think you may have got away with it!"

The dim glow that surrounded Hawke waned as Anders completed his examination. He removed his hand from Hawke's belly and clapped his friend on the shoulder.

"You should be fit to travel home this morning. I think I've nipped the infection in the bud before it really got started."

Hawke let out a relieved sigh. He'd spent a pain-free, if restless night after Bethany had told him she'd talked with Fenris and had made him aware of a few things. Although the elf had not felt able to speak to Hawke at the time, Bethany had been cautiously optimistic that Fenris would eventually accept Hawke's status as a blood mage, although both of the siblings knew it wouldn't be quite as simple, or easy, as that.

Left alone with his thoughts during the night, Hawke had slept fitfully, and had risen several times, going over to the entrance of his tent and looking across at Fenris's, wondering if the elf was also awake and what must have been going through his mind. On a few occasions, Hawke had felt a compulsion to go over to Fenris's tent, not knowing what he would do once there, but his inner voice had counselled against it. For once, Hawke had listened to it, though it had taken a monumental effort.

Now, as the first tentative rays of the sun splayed over the crest of Sundermount, Hawke heard the others dismantling their tents, having been informed by Anders that they'd be able to travel today. The front of his own tent was open, giving him a direct view of Fenris's; Hawke had not yet seen the elf emerge and no sounds came from within.

"I'm going to get my stuff packed," Anders told him, standing up. "I'll come back in a bit and give you a hand."

Hawke held his hand out to Anders, who shook it. "Anders, I can't thank you enough for what you've done for me. You saved my life."

"It's my job," Anders replied with a chuckle.

"Which you do better than anyone, Anders. Really, thank you."

A look of genuine diffidence came across Anders's face, and he shrugged. "Well, you're welcome. I'll be back in a little while."

As Anders exited, Hawke once again glanced at Fenris's tent and wondered what he was doing. The elf wouldn't have as much to pack as the others. Hawke knew that Fenris only took the bare essentials with him on any journey: dried rations, bedroll, water skin, a change of underclothes, a comb, a bar of soap, and a pouch of soot and salt with a rag for cleaning his teeth. He had probably already packed. Hawke knew that, if they were to travel back to Kirkwall that morning, that he and Fenris would have to see each other eventually, and decided that he may as well be the one to initiate contact; but, each time he started to rise with the intention of going over to Fenris's tent, his treacherous legs turned to jelly.

With a frustrated grunt, he started to gather a few of his belongings together, putting his hands on the books Bethany had brought from home. He still intended to give them to Fenris, and hoped that the elf would be receptive to receiving them. Hawke knew he'd made a mess of things, but he prayed that he and Fenris would somehow be able to salvage at least a friendship out of the wreckage, and that Fenris would keep up his reading, perhaps even with Hawke as his teacher. For now, that was all Hawke dared hope for.

He still felt weak, although he'd played it down to Anders as he was eager to get home. After packing his belongings, he slumped onto his cot and took a pull from his waterskin. A shadow fell across the front of his tent and he looked up, expecting to see Anders.

Fenris silently stepped into the tent, staying as close to the entrance as he could without actually being outside. Hawke slowly rose, his heart threatening to burst out of his chest, but he dared not smile, nor did he step any closer to the elf.

"Fen? A-are you all right? I didn't see you leave your tent…not that I was…well, actually...I was wondering if you were okay."

Fenris straightened up and his eyes moved to Hawke's cot; not for any particular reason, other than the reason of not looking directly at Hawke, and he nodded.

"I went for a walk. I understand that we are to be underway shortly?" asked Fenris. His tone was clipped, and a little weary. "Am I to assume that your condition has improved during the night?"

"Erm, yes…Anders said that I'm out of danger, now. Thank you for asking."

Fenris nodded again and clasped his hands tightly in front of him: the only giveaway that he was nervous.

Hawke cleared his throat and felt a fine sheen of sweat form on his brow. "How was your night, Fen? I-I mean…Fenris. Did you…sleep all right?"

Hawke already knew the answer to that: the grey shadows beneath Fenris's eyes and the dullness of his skin revealed that Fenris had also had a rough night, but Hawke's mind failed to come up with anything more to say than that.

"Not really," answered the elf, still looking at the cot. "I suspect neither of us did."

Hawke nodded, and a few minutes of awkward silence followed.

"Do you-do you think we could…talk?" ventured Hawke anxiously after a while. "If-if you want to, that is. I mean…when it's convenient for you." Hawke cringed at his haltingly formal tone but felt that being familiar would somehow be inappropriate, even though his body screamed to embrace Fenris, or just to touch him; even to stand closer to the elf, but he found he couldn't move an inch.

Fenris's gaze fell to the floor and he cleared his throat, shifting his weight from his left foot to his right. "Not here."

"Fine. T-that's fine," stammered Hawke, anxiety, wretched hope and longing causing his stomach to flip. "Maybe when we get back? When…when you're ready. Whenever _you're_ ready. It-it's up to you."

Fenris took his bottom lip into his mouth and nodded again. "I…well, it is good to hear that your condition has improved."

Fenris ducked under the canopy and walked over to his own tent, feeling Hawke's eyes on his back, and entered, pulling back the flap. He walked over to his cot, moved aside his neatly-arranged belongings, and sat down heavily, placing his head in his hands, taking several deep, tremulous breaths.

Hawke was out of danger.

~o~O~o~

Once ready, the group gave their heartfelt thanks to Keeper Marethari and Hahren Paival for the hospitality and generosity of the clan. Anders enquired about Feynriel, the troubled young mage he'd introduced to the Dalish, and was taken to him, enjoying a brief chat with the boy. Hawke declined to speak to Feynriel, and made an excuse, but the truth was that he didn't want to be associated with anyone even remotely connected with demons while Fenris was around.

Fenris stood apart from the group, and dipped a vague nod when thanks were being given to the clan, but otherwise stayed quiet and kept to himself. Hawke was quiet as well, but he did manage to force a smile as they departed, as he was genuinely grateful to the Dalish for their kindness.

Once out of the camp, the group was led by Fenris, who stayed well ahead but occasionally glanced back, while Varric regaled the rest of them with more of his friend fiction, but wisely chose a story that included neither Fenris nor Hawke. After a while, Hawke started to tire, but declined Anders's offer to support him; Hawke didn't want Anders next to him if Fenris wasn't also there. The canny Bethany sidled over to him and slipped her arm through his, and let her brother lean on her a little.

After finally reaching Kirkwall, the group split. Bethany and Hawke were taken home first, and Anders promised to call on them after seeing if there were any urgent cases at the clinic. Varric told Hawke that he planned to liaise with Bartrand, and would also visit Hawke later with an update on the expedition's progress. Fenris mumbled something about calling at the barracks to report that he was ready to resume his duties, but made no similar promise to call on Hawke. He did, however, have a quiet word with Bethany while Anders took Hawke inside, before setting off for Hightown with Varric.

Leandra gasped as she opened the door; although Hawke put on a brave face, his mother knew him like no other and could see that her son was quite unwell.

Gamlen was also at home, and he stood with hands on hips as Anders and Leandra led Hawke over to an armchair near the fire.

"What trouble have you landed yourself in this time, boy?" Gamlen demanded gruffly.

"Not _now_, Uncle," Bethany barked, and Gamlen blinked, taken aback at her sharpness.

"He was injured, but is recovering, now," Anders reassured Leandra. "He's going to need to rest for at least a few days, though, and lots of your wonderful home-cooked food. Nothing too rich, mind, and not too much at first; small portions to begin with."

"Sadist," groused Hawke with a tired smile for the women's sake.

"He needs quiet," continued Anders with a sly glance at Gamlen, "and as little stress as possible. Maker knows he's had enough of that for a couple of days."

"Don't worry, Anders; we'll see to that," Bethany answered him. "Mother, Anders has been absolutely wonderful in his care of Fletcher."

"Thank you for taking care of my boy," Leandra said to Anders with a warm smile, clutching his hand. "Won't you stay for some tea?"

"Oh, I'd love to, Ma Hawke, but I really must get back to the clinic. I'll call back a bit later. Maybe then?"

"Count on it, Anders; I'll have some cake for you as well," promised Leandra, and Anders grinned and bowed to her. He reached into his pack and produced a small drawstring bag, which he passed to Leandra.

"He'll need plenty of fluids; make him tea with this and get him to drink as much of it as possible." He glanced over at Hawke, who was already dozing next to the fire. "You can let him sleep for a while, but wake him in a couple of hours; he hasn't eaten solid food since yesterday and will need something soon. Start him off on something bland: rice, potatoes, bread, scrambled egg, maybe? Nothing sweet or fatty, and no meat or fish for now. I'll talk to you later about his diet in more detail. For now, I really must get back to the clinic."

"Thank you so much, Anders," said Leandra.

"See you later," Bethany said to him, and she called over to Gamlen, "Uncle, make yourself useful and show Anders out, would you?"

"What?" spluttered Gamlen, but, with a hard look from Bethany, he decided against arguing and did as he was bid. Once Anders had left, Bethany folded her arms and addressed Gamlen and Leandra, but her words were aimed at her uncle.

"This is what's going to happen today," she said quietly but firmly. "Fletcher is going to _rest _and everyone is going to be nice to him. He's had a horrid couple of days and needs looking after. Varric is going to come by a little later, and so is Anders. Fenris expects to be back on duty tonight and has gone to get some sleep, but he will also be visiting this afternoon. When he does, Uncle, you are going to take Mother and I out for dinner."

"What do you think I am, _made_ of coin?" argued Gamlen.

"_Quiet_," hissed Bethany through gritted teeth with a glance at her sleeping brother. "None of your nonsense today, Uncle. For all I care, you can sod off to the Rose once we leave here, but we _will _leave."

Gamlen blanched at the mention of the Rose, struck dumb at his niece's uncharacteristic belligerence.

"Darling," Leandra cooed, stroking her daughter's arm, "I suspect you are in need of rest, as well. Come; sit down and I'll fetch you some food."

"Yes, Mother," sighed Bethany in apology, and let her mother lead her over to the settee before Leandra busied herself in the kitchen.

Gamlen took a couple of steps closer to his niece and nephew, and chose his words carefully. "What happened?" he asked.

"Are you asking out of concern, or are you just being nosy?" snapped the frazzled Bethany. "He almost died, if you must know. _Don't_ tell Mother that."

"Look; I can see that…" Gamlen sighed and sat on the far end of the settee. "I can see you've both had it rough. You're the world to Leandra and I wouldn't see either of you harmed. I'm short on coin, and even shorter on charm, but if I can do anything to take the load off her, let me know."

A warm glow tickled Bethany's cheeks, and she cast a wry smile Gamlen's way. "Just lay off him, Uncle; that's all I ask. I know that you clash with him sometimes, but you have an awful lot in common, you know. He was also left to manage a house and a family after Father's death, and he was only sixteen. You're not the only one who's had it hard. He's…having a hard time now, as well."

Realising he'd let his curmudgeonly mask slip, Gamlen grunted and pushed himself up. "I'll keep my trap shut, then," he declared, and walked through to the kitchen, closing the door.

Bethany shrugged; Gamlen keeping his mouth shut was better than nothing. She stood up and dragged the settee a short distance over to her brother's chair and lifted his legs up, placing them onto one end of the settee.

"You fat sod, Fletcher," she puffed, struggling with his heavy limbs. Hawke's eyes opened a crack and he smiled blearily, moving his legs to where his sister wanted them. She then took a small cushion and placed it across Hawke's legs and settled down on the settee, laying her head on the cushion.

By the time Leandra came in with a snack for Bethany, both of them were fast asleep. Leandra watched them for several minutes, a few silent tears slipping free as she gazed down at her remaining children, her everything, snuggled up as they used to when they were tots. _How quickly the years pass_, she mused sadly. Hearing Gamlen crashing around in the kitchen, she wiped her cheeks and drew a deep breath before once again entering the kitchen to see what he was up to.

~o~O~o~

When Varric arrived a few hours later, Hawke had bathed, changed and was sitting at the dining table, making people and dog shapes out of a small bowl of mashed potatoes. Although his stomach growled, demanding food, Fletcher was surprised at how little appetite he had; he just couldn't be bothered to eat, feeling quite full enough of anxiety and bone-weariness. As the dwarf was shown to the table, Leandra admonished her son to eat for the umpteenth time, and Hawke forced a small spoonful down his throat.

"Do you want this?" Hawke whispered with a nod to his bowl.

"Uh-uh; I'm not getting on the wrong side of your mother _or _your sister," Varric joked. "Now, be a good boy and eat up."

Hawke mustered a half-hearted glare at the dwarf before his shoulders slumped and he closed his eyes for a moment. "How's Bartrand?" he asked listlessly.

"As thick as nug shit, but I'll tell him you asked," quipped Varric. "I just had to stop him from having his men begin felling trees for wood."

"_Wood_?" Hawke's eyes flew open and his brow creased. "Whatever for?"

"For the expedition," Varric clarified with a shrug, bracing himself for a strong reaction from Hawke. "Fuel, you see, for the fires."

"What? Is he crackers or something?" spluttered Hawke, and Varric bit back a chuckle, glad to see his friend a little more animated. "Is he trying to kill us all? We'll be _underground_, Varric. Does he want us to suffocate with the smoke?"

"Any better ideas, Hawke?" asked Varric, quirking an eyebrow.

"Well, yes! There are two mages going on the expedition; he does _know _that, doesn't he? Both Anders and I can summon flame, and I can create grease, which will burn with almost no smoke. We don't need _wood_, Varric; we need lyrium, and as much of it as we can get our hands on."

"Bartrand reckons the Deep Roads'll be lined with lyrium."

Hawke shook his head. "Not in a form mages can use. The lyrium smugglers can risk brain damage and insanity if they like; I won't touch it in its raw state. Anders and I were planning to get several batches made, before I got us all stuck up the mountain, that is. Oh…we'll also need salt. Lots of it."

"_Salt_? What for, Hawke? Is the food down in the Deep Roads a little on the bland side?"

Hawke shook his head. "No, we need salt to make oxygen." Smiling at Varric's puzzled expression, he leaned forward a little. "Which one of your paragons invented breathable air, then?"

"Uh…the name escapes me, Hawke. I guess I didn't pay too much attention at Paragon School."

"It was Paragon Garias," declared Hawke, and Varric's eyebrows shot up. "My father taught us about all the different cultures of Thedas. I paid particular attention to the science-y stuff, so I remembered the name. Garias eradicated black lung way back in 71: Towers with his oxygen generators. Due to that, he enjoyed wealth, privilege and as many women as his tongue could cope with." He beckoned the dwarf a little nearer. "Not to disrespect the man, but a child could have come up with it; it's a very simple chemical reaction. Even a mage could have thought it up," he added with a grin, his spirits lifting in Varric's company.

"You see, Hawke? _This _is why I came to you for the expedition! I _knew_ there was something about you the first time I set eyes on you!" said Varric brightly and, it had to be said, proudly.

"Are you…coming _onto_ me?" Hawke teased. "Bethany's sitting just over there, you know."

"You're welcome to him, Brother," she joked from the settee.

"Smartass," muttered Varric. "Well, I'll leave all the clever chemical stuff to you and Blondie, while I keep an eye on Bartrand." He produced a piece of paper and unfolded it, passing it over to Hawke. "I made a list of things he wants to take along. I said no to most of 'em, but he said if _you_ agree, then I'm outvoted and I can kiss his ass. The guy's optimistic, I'll give him that."

Hawke pored over the list, shaking his head, his nose wrinkling. "He's having a laugh!" "Oh, please," and "No bloody way are we taking _that!"_ were some of his more polite responses.

"Fletcher, _eat_," Leandra reminded him sternly as she set a cup of tea down in front of Varric.

"_Yes_, Mother," groaned Hawke, forcing another spoonful of the now-cold mash into his mouth.

"There's something else," Varric said with a mild grimace as he took the list of rejected items back. Hawke raised his eyebrows and waited. "Well, the Rivaini has been pestering me-"

"Who?"

"You know…Blondie's 'friend'? Isabela?"

"Oh, her? What's she been pestering you about?"

"She wants in on the expedition. I know, I know," He held his hands up to stop Hawke's protest. "I warned her that there are dangers down there for women, even though I don't know what those dangers are. She said that she laughs in the face of danger."

Hawke folded his arms on the table in front of him and rested his chin on them. "If she keeps on at you, send her to Anders. He'll tell her a few stories that'll make her _vomit_ in the face of danger."

"Seriously, Hawke? You don't think she'll um…get round him?"

Hawke shook his head. "Anders is vehemently opposed to having _any_ woman along on the expedition."

"_Mash_, Fletcher!" Bethany nagged from the settee with a cheeky grin.

"Not you as well!"

Varric watched as Hawke reluctantly nibbled at a spoonful of cold spuds. Varric was used to seeing his young friend with flushed, healthy skin, cheeks full with gravy dribbling down his chin as he ate. The man who sat before him now, though, was as pale and flaccid as the slop he pushed around his bowl. Varric was a consummate people-watcher and knew from Hawke's breathing pattern of long, deep inhalations, his body language and the inflections in his voice, that, despite his cheery façade, the young man had been on the verge of tears once or twice during their conversation, but had pulled himself back at the last minute.

"I walked into Hightown with the elf," he mentioned casually, guessing that, as Hawke would not lose control in front of his mother, now was as good a time as any to broach the subject.

There it was: the dull sheen of sadness in Hawke's eyes, his anxiety given life, before it was quickly blinked away. "Yes, Beth said he had to report back; declare himself ready for duty and all that. He's, erm…going to pop by later on."

"That's great, Hawke. I put in a good word for you, y'know, but, damn his pert little elven ass, he keeps his cards bloody close to his chest."

Hawke flashed a toothy smile, and his shoulders shook, but Varric saw the sadness return to Hawke's eyes immediately. "Pert little elven ass?" Hawke repeated, his eyes glazing over as he pushed the sadness down and forced his grin even wider. "I suppose it is."

"I have high hopes that you'll get to see that ass one day, Hawke," Varric muttered so that Leandra wouldn't hear, and Hawke sniggered.

"That's something to aim towards, at least." This time, his smile was genuine, but it quickly faltered. "More likely he'll tell me to kiss it."

"Well, when you're better, get yourself up to Hightown. You can kiss the elf's ass the same time Bartrand kisses _mine_," quipped Varric, waving the list at Hawke. "_That'll_ give the nobles something to talk about."

Hawke sat up straight and smiled wanly. "It's a date." _Probably the only bloody date I'm likely to get now._

Varric finished his tea and stood up, hefting Bianca over his shoulder. "Guess I'd better see what else that stone-humping asshat is up to."

"You're going back to Hightown?" asked Hawke, glancing at Varric's legs. "How are those little stumps of yours?"

"Getting stumpier by the day," replied Varric with an easy smile. "You'd think one of those damned paragons would've invented something useful, like shoes with wheels, but _oh_, no, they were all about running water and _breathable air_. What use is that to me?"

"Maybe _you_ should invent shoes with wheels?" suggested Hawke. "Paragon Tethras…it has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"

"You think so?" Varric pulled a face and looked at his legs. "Nah, I think I'll stick with my stumps. I couldn't abide all those adoring lackeys. I enjoy the quiet life."

"I'll walk out with you, Varric," Bethany said, also heading for the door. "I'm going to call on Merrill, keep her company for a while."

"Say hello from me," Hawke called over, waving to them both. As they left, he slumped in his chair and pushed his bowl aside.

"How long do you think it will be before you set off for the Deep Roads?" Bethany asked Varric as they descended the steps.

"Shouldn't be more than a couple of days, now," answered Varric, "but we're not going anywhere until Hawke's a hundred percent. Is he…gonna be okay if things don't work out with the elf?"

Bethany shrugged. "He'll be fine for the expedition, if that's what you mean. He's been waiting for it for such a long time, but I'm just worried about _after _the expedition. If he has nothing to work towards, well…I'm scared he'll start drinking again." She shook her head.

"In that case, we'd better make sure things _do _work out with the elf," said Varric thoughtfully. "I'll keep on at 'em in the Deep Roads, and you do what you can for the next few days. I don't wanna see him the way he was when I first met you both. He's too good for that."

"Neither do I." Bethany hung her head and Varric squeezed her arm.

"Will you be okay?" he asked her, and she nodded, forcing a smile. "I just need to keep that brother of mine in line. You go see Daisy, take her to the 'Man, have lunch on my tab. How about we go to the house, later?" he suggested, referring to Petrice's former safehouse. "I'll have some nice food brought over and we'll put our feet – or stumps, in my case – up. How's that sound?"

"Oh, I'd like that," Bethany smiled and leaned down, kissing the dwarf on the cheek.

"I'll call for you when I'm done in Hightown," he told her with a wink, and walked off, his stomach sinking. Although he would never let on, he was worried about his young friends. Blondie had been talking to himself again, Hawke was almost the lowest he'd ever seen him and Sunshine was doing her best to be strong when she felt anything but. He guessed that Sunshine must also be concerned about him and her brother venturing into the Deep Roads.

He hadn't formed quite as strong a bond with the elf as the others, but he hadn't known him as long, nor was the elf as approachable or as open as the others, but still, Varric liked him, and could see that he was good for Hawke. He decided there and then that if Sunshine had no luck, then he would make it his business to badger Hawke and the elf mercilessly once they were in the Deep Roads until they started talking just to shut him up.

And, with a little luck, maybe they'd figure things out between themselves?

~o~O~o~

As promised, Anders called on Hawke once he'd seen to things at the clinic. To his surprise and delight, Mallory, the refugee who'd helped out when the Fereldan ship had docked in Kirkwall, had been managing things in his stead; thankfully, there had been no emergencies, and, having some knowledge of herbalism thanks to her experience as a cook, she'd dispensed a few of Anders's decoctions to those who'd needed them. Much to Anders's amusement, she'd also sent a few timewasters to the Wise Woman and her leeches.

Anders brought Mallory with him, and they informed Hawke that, as she'd had no luck finding work on the surface so far, she'd volunteered to help Anders out at the clinic for the time being. Anders seemed very enthusiastic about this, and also explained that Mallory had approached a few refugees who had medical knowledge of some kind, and had asked them if they'd also volunteer while Anders was in the Deep Roads.

"I don't know how I ever managed without her!" Anders gushed, his cheeks pink, and Hawke was amazed at the change in the man.

"Well, you certainly get things done," Hawke said to the petite but spirited woman. "Anders has been trying for ages to get more help at the clinic, but he obviously doesn't have your charm."

Mallory shook her head and smiled. "Back home, I had to deal with tradesmen, nobles and slack-jawed kitchen staff. A few refugees are a doddle in comparison."

Their pleasant chat was interrupted by heavy rapping upon the front door. Gamlen groaned, put his book down and walked over to the door.

"Yes, Guardsman?" Gamlen asked as he opened the door.

"Pardon the intrusion, messere, but is Hawke at home?"

"There are several Hawkes here," said Gamlen unhelpfully. "Which one do you want?"

"Come in, Donnic," Hawke called over with an irritated look at his uncle, who tutted and walked back over to his chair and book.

Donnic entered and bowed to Leandra, once again apologising for the intrusion. She bade him to sit at the table and went into the kitchen to make some tea.

"How are you now, Hawke?" asked the guard, and Hawke answered, but could see that Donnic was agitated about something, and he cut to the chase.

"What brings you here, Donnic? Not that I'm not pleased to see you, of course."

Donnic sighed, relieved that Hawke hadn't engaged in smalltalk, and he glanced around the room. "I don't suppose Fenris is here, is he? Or has he been here, at all?"

"Not since this morning, no," replied Hawke with a frown. "I thought he was at the barracks?"

"He was." Donnic again glanced around and cleared his throat. "May we speak in private, Hawke?"

Hawke froze for a second before he stood up and led Donnic over to his and Gamlen's room. Closing the door behind them, he turned toward the grim-faced guard. "What's this about, Donnic?"

Donnic paused momentarily, unsure of what to say. "Does…does Fenris have…nightmares, Hawke?"

Hawke's face dropped like a stone. "_Tell _me."

"Well, I and the other fellas went to bed after our shift, and Fenris came in a while later, having reported back to Aveline; she told him to resume his nightshift as usual. We had a chat for a bit; I asked him how you were. He was very quiet…we all went back to bed…sorry," he said with a groan, "I'll get to the point. Sometime later, Fenris…he started…yelling in his sleep, almost screaming. Filbert and I tried to wake him, and he-he just _grabbed_ us both by the throats and started to glow…"

"What happened?" Hawke demanded, eyes wide in panic.

"He realised it was us…he let us go, and he stopped glowing. He mumbled an apology, threw some clothes on and scarpered."

"He left the barracks?"

Donnic nodded and released a heavy sigh. "He scared the shit out of us. I knew deep down he wouldn't hurt us, but Davy and Filbert took some convincing. I talked them round, though, and explained a little bit of Fenris's past, but not too much. They like him; they're out looking for him, as well. We need to find him before Aveline discovers we're gone. She'll want an explanation, and she can smell a lie a mile off. If she suspects that Fenris is…_troubled_ in any way, that'll be it; he'll be out."

"The chantry," Hawke said immediately, but Donnic shook his head.

"That was the first place I thought of. Sebastian hasn't seen him since we were up on the mountain. He's going to keep an eye out, though, and will get word to us if he shows up. I even thought of going to the mansion, but that's the last place he'd go, isn't it? Besides, Varric said he had the place rigged."

Hawke rubbed his forehead, his heart thumping. "He wouldn't go to the Hanged Man, or anywhere with lots of people…I think he'd want to be on his own. Where, though?"

"He might still come here," Donnic ventured.

"I doubt it," mumbled Hawke, suddenly feeling weak and hot. "There's the safehouse…no, he doesn't have a key. You say you _didn't _check the mansion?"

"I didn't see the point," shrugged Donnic.

Hawke went over to a small wardrobe and pulled out a black robe, which he slipped over his shirt and leggings. He then retrieved his boots from a corner and pulled them on. "Let's go," he said as he opened the bedroom door and entered the main room. "Mother, I'm going out-"

"You _can't_," Anders insisted. "You're not well enough! You're supposed to be _resting_."

"Fenris has gone missing," Hawke began.

Anders shot to his feet. "No! It's because of _him_ and his vendetta against mages that you were injured in the first place!" he spluttered. "He can't keep _doing_ things like this to you!"

A hush fell over the room, and a few pairs of eyes darted from side to side; all except those of Anders, Hawke and Donnic; the guard shot Anders a decidedly black look.

"It's because of _me_ that he's in such a state," Hawke answered, and could feel irritation taking root inside him, but he supressed it, mindful that Anders had recently saved his life.

"I can take care of the clinic, if you like," offered Mallory, and Hawke, by now feeling none too charitable, narrowed his eyes at her, wondering how anyone could be so irrepressibly _helpful _all the time.

"Fletcher, please do what Anders says," Leandra implored. "You're not well. I'm certain the guards will find him."

"I'm sorry, Mother; I won't be able to rest until I know he's all right." He turned to Anders, his expression stern. "Are you coming?"

_Anders, you must be a friend to both of them. Be the better man._

"All right," groaned Anders, "If only to keep an eye on _you_."

"I'll be back soon, Mother," said Hawke as he opened the front door.

"I'll tell the other guards to look out for him," Donnic informed Hawke. "Meet you in Hightown?"

Hawke nodded and walked off with Anders and Mallory. Donnic stared after them for a moment, wishing he could keep his _own_ eye on _Anders_. With a huff, he turned and headed in the opposite direction.


	44. Chapter 44

Once Mallory had been dropped off at the clinic, Hawke and Anders began searching the side alleys and hidden nooks of Lowtown. Anders couldn't have cared less whether or not Fenris was found, but he wanted Hawke somewhere warm, resting, so he joined in with as much enthusiasm as he could feign, which wasn't much.

Deep down, Hawke knew they were wasting their time in Lowtown. For some reason, he was certain that Fenris would be found at the mansion. The logical part of his brain told him that was the last place the elf would take refuge, but Hawke had never been a very logical person, and, in the intuitive part of his brain, upon which Hawke relied heavily, the mansion shone and pulsated like a beacon, calling him ever closer.

After a fruitless search of the markets and alleyways, the two mages headed for the steps. Much to Anders's surprise, Hawke took them two at a time and maintained his pace as he ascended. Once they reached the top, Hawke was gasping for breath, but didn't slow down as he charged toward the chantry, where Sebastian and Donnic were talking outside the main doors.

"Any-any luck?" panted Hawke, bending and bracing his hands on his thighs.

"Nothing," Donnic grumbled.

Sebastian shook Hawke's hand and then reached over for Anders's, who fancied he saw a moment's hesitation on the chantry brother's part.

"There's still Hightown Estates to search," suggested Sebastian.

"I'll take Danarius's manor," said Hawke, already on his way over.

"And if he's not there, you're _going _home," urged Anders, who followed him along with Sebastian and Donnic. "You _need _to rest!"

"Yes, all right," mumbled Hawke absently. He had no intention of going home until Fenris had been found, though, and Anders knew it.

"Right, let's split up," Donnic instructed once they'd reached the Estates. "Seb, you check along the tradesman's entrances; Anders-"

"Actually, it'd be better if I went with Hawke," he interrupted, "as I doubt Fenris will come out if he hears _my_ voice."

Donnic looked at Anders for a moment before nodding briskly. "Fine. I'm going to knock on someone's door and check the rear grounds of the estates. I'm the only one among us legally authorised to do that. We'll meet back here when we've finished."

The four men went their separate ways, with Hawke and Anders entering the grounds of Danarius's mansion together. Upon entering the courtyard, Hawke stopped and looked around; the grounds appeared to be empty. He walked over to a window and peered through while Anders went to the front door and knocked upon it.

"I doubt he'll just come to the door," Hawke called over, squinting to see past the half-closed drapes.

"What else do you suggest, then?"

"He _can't_ be in there," Hawke replied heavily. "Come and have a look."

Anders walked over to Hawke and stood beside him, looking through the window. Inside, numerous tripwires criss-crossed the main vestibule, and a fine layer of flour coated the floor; it would have been impossible for anyone to have entered without leaving footprints or setting off one of the traps. Hawke's eyes wandered over to the spot where the settee once was, and his shoulders sagged.

"That's it, then," said Anders. "_Now _will you go home?"

"What do _you_ think?" answered Hawke. "Could you just _go home _if someone you care about had disappeared?"

"He hasn't disappeared!" Anders exclaimed in exasperation. "He's gone off in another strop! I don't understand what all this fuss is about! Why do you keep indulging him like this?"

"_Careful_, Anders. You don't know what you're talking about." Hawke's warning was clear in his low and deadly-calm voice.

"Then tell me! Make me understand why he keeps running off like this!"

"_Keeps_? This is the second time, Anders! That's hardly constant, is it?"

"Bloody hell," hissed Anders. "Why must you insist on making a fool of yourself over this man?"

"Because I love him, that's why!" Hawke stepped closer to Anders, bristling. "Have you never loved anyone, Anders? Do you not understand what it means to lie awake at night worrying about them? For one of their smiles to instantly make everything right? For their disappointment to cause the bottom to fall out of your world?"

"No! I've never loved _anyone_," snapped Anders, "and I doubt anyone has ever loved _me_! Is that the answer you wanted? Because it's the truth!"

Hawke's mouth fell open, and the two men stared at each other for a long moment before Anders broke eye contact and turned away.

"This is a waste of bloody time. I'll be outside the chantry when you're ready to go back."

"Anders, wait a minute…"

"What for? You're not going to listen to me, are you? You're just going to keep on looking until you drop. There are people who care about _you_ as well, you know!"

"I know you're only looking out for me, Anders, and I'm grateful! But I can't just leave him, can I?"

Anders didn't reply as he walked away, leaving Hawke alone in the courtyard, slowly retracting his outstretched hand. Feeling the last of his strength and spirit ebb away, he trudged over to the wall and sat on the ground beneath a window, where he looked up at the sky, his vision blurred.

"Where _are_ you?" he asked dismally, his voice little more than a croak. "I'm so sorry I hurt you! I wish I could just go back…Maker, I miss you…" He pressed the heels of his hands hard against his eyes in a vain attempt to stem his tears; exhaustion, guilt and fear overwhelming him.

"Hawke."

The name was a suggestion carried on the gentle rustle of leaves, and Hawke held his breath, his head jolting up, his eyes roaming the thick wall of ivy that blanketed the southern aspect of the mansion.

He wiped his eyes and nose and blinked several times, his lungs protesting at the air held within, denied its release until Hawke was _sure_.

"Fen?"

Was he imagining things?

Another rustle came from the far-right edge of the ivy, and a vague outline, darker than the shadows which half-concealed it, moved slightly and then stopped.

Hawke released his breath and pushed himself to his feet. "Fenris? Is that you?"

The outline grew darker and resolved into a solid image as the elf slunk out of the shadows, and the first thing Hawke saw were his eyes, as red-rimmed and wide as his own.

Fenris remained where he was as Hawke slowly walked over, stopping a few feet away. "I knew you'd be here," Hawke whispered. "I knew it. I know _you_."

"You should not be here," Fenris said roughly, hiding his trembling hands behind his back. "You are ill. You must _rest_. Why have you…"

"Everyone's looking for you. They're worried about you, Fen."

Fenris scowled, shook his head and disappeared behind the ivy. Hawke followed, finding the elf sitting on a stone bench in a small alcove concealed by the vines. Hawke remained standing, unsure how close to Fenris was _too _close.

"I almost…"

"You had a bad dream. Donnic understands. We need to get you back to the barracks before-"

"It wasn't a dream."

Hawke hesitated, unsure of the elf's meaning. "You were asleep. You had a nightmare," he said gently.

"No. Something…came back to me."

"You mean…?" Hawke slowly moved to the opposite end of the bench and sat down. "A memory?"

Fenris's eyes glazed over as they stared ahead, and he nodded almost imperceptibly.

"What-what happened?"

"I believe it was the first time Danarius forced himself upon me." The elf's matter-of-fact tone sent a chill down Hawke's spine. Fenris had only hinted at his master's depravity before, and had never actually come out and said it.

Hawke coughed to break a silence so weighty it was virtually a third presence among them.

"When I told you about the ritual that provided me with the markings, there were…gaps in the story, in my memory. Do you remember?"

Hawke nodded gravely and braced himself.

"…I remember part of it, now," the elf related, his voice as flat and lifeless as the air around them had become. "I had just regained consciousness. Danarius was standing over me. All of his-his _assistants _had been sent away. I was naked, except for a small cloth that covered my private parts. He… was looking at me in a very peculiar way."

Fenris closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed hard before turning slightly towards Hawke and opening his eyes again.

"I could not move; I was too weak and in horrendous pain. I begged him to administer a pain-relieving agent, but he ignored me. He began to… touch me." He shuddered at the memory, and Hawke inched a little closer, desperate to comfort him, but he refrained.

"He said I was a work of art, a masterpiece, that I was _sublime_," the elf spat hatefully. "He removed his robe…I remember recoiling from him, and he seemed…hurt, and intimated that I had never rejected him before. His touch became firmer, more…exigent. His breathing quickened. I told him that he was hurting me, but he would not stop…he used magic on me, paralysed me. The _pain_…I-I could do nothing. He told me I was _his_, to do with whatever he wished-"

"Fenris, _please_," Hawke beseeched in a fractured whisper. "Don't say any more."

Fenris turned his head toward Hawke and clasped his hands together. "You understand…you are the only one who understands because-because you have also been…you were…"

Hawke shook his head emphatically. "What happened to me is not the same. Not the same thing at all. I was willing. I wanted it to happen, until I knew…you were _forced_. It's _not_ the same."

"When you told me the truth about yourself, I wanted to get as far away from you as possible," Fenris admitted, his words tumbling out in rapid succession, "but I had given my word to stay at your side. At the time, that was all that kept me from leaving, and yet, when I awoke from-I wanted to be with you. You were the only person I wanted to see, hear. The only one who knows…who understands." He placed his head in his hands, shaking it. "I feel…lost. I'm so _confused_. I don't know what to do. I want to run away from you and toward you at the same time."

Fenris's words came as no surprise to Hawke, but the shattering effect they had on him was no less intense for it. "I'm so sorry I made you feel like that."

"You didn't. This is something I have to figure out for myself." He removed his hands from his face and once again looked at Hawke. "It's too late. I…can't walk away from you, now. It's too late for that. But I…I don't know if I can trust you. You have kept so much from me. I'm sorry. I don't know what to do," he repeated.

Hope, mingled with sorrow, rose within Hawke and he longed to edge closer to Fenris, to reach out and touch his hand, his hair, but he knew he couldn't. He had to earn Fenris's trust all over again and wouldn't do that by forcing his proximity upon him.

"Don't be sorry. You've done nothing wrong." Hawke stood up and looked down at Fenris, his posture mirroring the elf's: beaten, exhausted, wounded. "Stay here. I'm going to tell them I've found you."

"I _won't_ go back to the barracks," Fenris insisted, his hand cutting through the air. "Let Aveline dismiss me if she wishes. I care not for the consequences. I will _not_ go back there today."

"You don't have to. Come and stay with me…_us_, my family. Mother, Beth and my uncle will be there; you won't need to be on your own with me, if that's what you want." The blurted invitation surprised Hawke as much as it did Fenris, who glanced at him and frowned, before looking away without answering.

Hawke sat on the bench again, this time a little closer to Fenris. "You don't trust me, and I don't blame you for that. I'm going to do everything I can to make things right. Even if you never trust me again, I'll not have you thinking that _everyone_ is untrustworthy. I won't be responsible for doing that to you."

Fenris continued to stare ahead at some indeterminate point within the tangle of ivy.

"Come home with me," Hawke urged softly. "I'll tell you everything, Fenris: everything about my father, about the deal I made, and about…Dalton." Hawke's voice faltered, and Fenris once again looked at him.

"You don't have to…"

"I _want _to. You're going to know _everything_ about me, if you're willing to listen. I'm going to tell you things my own sister and mother don't know, and I hope that will prove to you how much I trust _you_."

"I know you trust me, Hawke."

"I'll never keep anything from you again, Fenris; you're going to hear it all, good and bad," Hawke implored, his voice unsteady with anxiety. "I'm not going to give you up. You mean too much to me. If it takes the rest of my life, I'll earn your trust again." The urgency of his appeal resonated with Fenris and their eyes met, fear and hurt reflected in them. "_Please_ let me try. Take a leap of faith, Fenris."

Fenris sighed softly and glanced down at his slippers, made for him by Leandra. Hawke came from a good, decent family. Hawke was a good, decent man, but one with a demon at his back. Hawke was not Danarius, he knew that with certainty, but could Fenris make such a leap? Could he accept, trust or even _love_ a blood mage?

Was that question moot, though? Did he _love_ Hawke already?

He remembered Bethany's declaration that her brother _loved _him, followed by Hawke's words to Anders, spoken only minutes earlier.

He remembered Hawke's reaction when Fenris had told him of the Fog Warriors, of when Hawke had watched him kill Hadriana, and of all the times Fenris had verbally lashed out at him. Hawke had seen the worst of him and accepted, trusted and _loved_ him despite that.

"Fenris?" Hawke invited softly, interrupting his thoughts. "Come home with me?"

~o~O~o~

"You found him!" Donnic rushed forward as Hawke and Fenris entered the main square at the front of Hightown Estates, and Sebastian followed behind him. The guardsman halted, however, when he saw how dejected the elf appeared.

"Fenners?"

Fenris looked up, unable to meet Donnic's eyes, and studied his friend's throat, remembering his own hand closing around it and squeezing.

"I'm fine!" Donnic asserted, placing his hand over his neck, but not before Fenris had seen the bruises that had already begun to form there. "We're _both _fine. Come on, mate, let's get you back to the barracks; we can talk there."

Fenris lowered his head and shook it, clasping his hands together tightly. "I can't. I won't-I won't risk hurting anyone-"

"You didn't! It's fine, Fenners. We'll just know not to wake you if it happens again. Nobody knows about it but us, and that's how it'll stay. We're your friends."

"I'm…sorry, Donnic," Fenris whispered, crippled by his mortification.

"Fenris needs to prepare for the expedition, anyway," Hawke interjected. "I should have told Aveline that it's not far off, now. She can blame me if she likes."

Donnic, realising that Hawke was trying to save face for Fenris, nodded. "Well, she knew it was coming up. You were only in training, anyway, Fen, and that can be resumed when you return from the expedition. It _will _be resumed."

All eyes turned to Fenris, but he was withdrawn, his own eyes boring into the ground.

"Are you…is he going with you, Hawke?" asked Donnic.

"I've offered, yes," answered Hawke with a glance at Sebastian. "Although…maybe you'd feel more comfortable at the chantry? It's up to you," he said to the mute elf. "We can…talk another time, if you like. Whenever you're ready."

"You'd be more than welcome, Fenris," Sebastian answered benignly, "but the chantry is awfully draughty of a night. I'd recommend you spend the night with Hawke's family. His abode is small, but it's warm and welcoming, as are the Hawkes. You would be better off there, I think," he added with a glance at Hawke, who nodded back gratefully.

"Yes," said Fenris blankly, looking up at Donnic with dull eyes. "I have put you all to so much trouble. Forgive me, my friends." He shook his head and once again fell silent.

"Get him home, Hawke," Donnic urged. "I'll sort things out with Aveline."

"I'll accompany you both," offered Sebastian. "I could do with a walk."

"Fenris?" asked Hawke. The elf nodded and Hawke exhaled in relief. "Where's Anders?" he asked, glancing around.

Donnic and Sebastian exchanged a quick look, which didn't go unnoticed by Hawke. "He…went back to the clinic, I think," answered Donnic.

"What, that's all he said?" Hawke demanded.

Sebastian cleared his throat and once again glanced at Donnic. "He didn't say anything, Hawke."

"What…?" Hawke paused and breathed deeply through his nose, trying without success to push his anger down. "What's he trying to do?" he muttered under his breath. "I haven't got the energy to chase after _him _as well! What's he playing at?" Was that what he wanted Hawke to do? Did he resent the attention Fenris was getting?

"Fenris, are you ready?" he asked, waving his hand toward the steps leading down to the grounds of the chantry. Fenris nodded and walked ahead, with his three friends following.

"I'll call off the search and get back to the barracks," Donnic announced once they reached the foot of the steps.

"Let me help," Fenris uttered mechanically.

"Yes, we'll all help," Hawke chipped in.

Donnic shook his head. "Just get home, you two. Fen, I'll call on you tomorrow morning after my shift, if that's all right? Don't worry. Leave everything to me." He placed his hands on Fenris's shoulders and looked for a moment like he was going to hug him, but he stepped back. "I'll check on Anders tonight, Hawke," he promised.

"Thanks, Donnic." Hawke suspected there was more than concern for Anders's wellbeing in Donnic's statement, but didn't question him. Fenris was his priority and whatever was going through Anders's head _this_ time would have to wait.

After a few handshakes, Donnic departed. As usual, Fenris walked slightly ahead but his bowed head and the slump of his shoulders spoke of how inattentive he was. In lieu of his usual protection, Hawke and Sebastian held their staff and bow ready. The merchants had started to pack away their goods and both men knew that this was the time of day when muggings and pickpocketing were at their peak. Hawke almost _hoped _that someone would have a go; he was in the mood to beat someone up.

Nobody did have a go, however, and their journey to Lowtown passed quietly. Conversation was minimal between Hawke and Sebastian, and non-existent from Fenris; his companions didn't trouble him with the inanities they exchanged.

Eventually, they reached the slums and Hawke let them into Gamlen's home. Bethany had returned from Merrill's and settled Fenris down at the dining table while Sebastian and Hawke stepped back outside.

Sebastian didn't speak at first; the suspicious look he gave Hawke spoke for him.

"He's, um…he's had a shock. Bad news," Hawke mumbled in explanation of Fenris's behaviour and demeanour.

"Donnic told me he'd had a…nightmare?" Sebastian queried, and there was a further, unspoken question there, as well as a restrained coolness to his voice.

"Yes…but I'm wondering if I…" Hawke paused, his mind still cogitating whether his confession had distressed Fenris so much as to bring on a flashback.

"Did you _tell_ him?" asked Sebastian. "Is that what's behind it?"

Hawke frowned, confused, but an alarm clamoured in his mind. "_Tell_ him? Tell him what?"

"That you're a blood mage," was Sebastian's blunt reply.

Hawke's breath caught, and his eyes widened, his mouth slowly opening.

"Yes, I know," Sebastian said stiffly. "Have you told him yet? I don't need to remind you that Danarius was _also_ a blood mage. Fenris has a _right_ to know."

"He knows," murmured Hawke, "and yes, I think that's what's behind it."

Sebastian folded his arms and let out a long sigh. "Well, I'm pleased to hear that you've been honest with him. He deserves that, as much as the truth has devastated him."

"It has," Hawke whispered, his eyes cast down, his posture slumping. "I'm…trying to put things right. I'm not a practising blood mage, although I don't suppose that matters to most people."

"I can see that. And in case you're wondering, I won't report you to the Templars. I wouldn't do that to your mother or sister…or to Fenris."

"I wasn't-"

"…Not unless you give me reason to, Hawke. So long as you _continue _not to practise it."

"I won't." Hawke exhaled, suddenly feeling very tired. "How did you know?"

"Your friend, Merrill. Something she said while we were engaging Hadriana."

Hawke nodded slowly. "She was worried that someone would guess. It's not her fault, though. Are you…going to report _her_?"

"Not for the time being. I'll be keeping an eye on her, though, as well. I won't abide the practise of blood magic; it was what killed my family. From what I have seen of you so far, Hawke, you appear to be a decent man, but I cannot ignore the fact you are bound to a demon, whatever the circumstances."

"I understand that, Sebastian. Just…we're not all like the Harrimans."

"Possibly, but the potential for corruption is always there," answered Sebastian. "You have assured me that you are a non-practising blood mage, and I must take you at your word. Do not break it, Hawke, for Fenris's sake, and for your own. Think of me what you will; I must do what I feel is right."

"My opinion of you hasn't changed, Sebastian," Hawke assured him. "You're being a good friend to Fenris, and I'm grateful to you for that. If he decides he wants nothing more to do with me, which is a distinct possibility, he'll need a friend like you."

Sebastian eyed Hawke warily for a moment before nodding and releasing a sigh. "You must understand, Hawke, that I have seen the very worst of blood magic…not that any _good _could ever come of it. Perhaps…perhaps you see that, also; I don't know. I _am _Fenris's friend, though, and I will do what I must to protect him."

"I know that, and so would I," replied Hawke, looking towards the door. "I…I wouldn't have hurt him for anything, but that's exactly what I've done. I've messed up, Sebastian, but I'm going to do whatever it takes to make it up to him…if he'll let me."

"I see your contrition, Hawke, which is why I discouraged Fenris from seeking refuge at the chantry. I do believe that you have his best interests at heart, and that you care for him." Sebastian's intense blue eyes fixed Hawke in place as he paused. "_Don't_ prove me wrong."

Hawke nodded once, and Sebastian bowed slightly, but did not offer Hawke his hand. "Good afternoon to you, Hawke. Maker watch over you."

"Good afternoon, Sebastian, and thank you." Hawke watched the archer walk down the steps and out of the slums. "Maker watch over you, too."

He entered the house to find Bethany, Leandra and a disgruntled Gamlen hovering near to the door. Fenris sat at the dining table, nursing a cup of tea.

"Uncle Gamlen's taking us out, isn't that right, Uncle?" Bethany sang, receiving a grunt in reply. In spite of how anxious Hawke felt, he had to smile at Bethany's none-too-subtle scheming.

"We'll be back later, darling," Leandra said, concern wrinkling her brow. "_Please _get some rest."

"I will," he replied, and Leandra pulled him close, the suddenness and desperation in her embrace causing tears to spring to his eyes again. "M-Mother," he whispered, pulling away, "I'm fine, really…I just need a good night's sleep."

An impatient sigh was heard from the door. "Are we going, or not?" asked Gamlen.

Leandra nodded and released Hawke. "Make yourself at home, Fenris," she called over, and the elf doffed a respectful nod.

They left the house and made their way down the steps, Gamlen walking a short distance ahead, and mother and daughter arm-in-arm. Once they'd exited the slums, Leandra halted.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on, Bethany?" she asked her daughter.

"Going…on? What do you mean, Mother?"

"What has happened to Fletcher? Fenris?"

"They're just having a few issues which they need to talk about-"

"Daughter, it's clear to me that there's a lot more than a few _issues_ here," Leandra interrupted. "Do you think I haven't noticed that Fletcher has lost weight? How he grimaces and clutches his stomach sometimes when he thinks I'm not looking? This is how he gets when he's worried about something, but when I ask him he pats my hand and tells _me_ not to worry. I _want _to know what's going on."

Bethany sighed and placed her hands on Leandra's arms. "Fletcher and Fenris are…involved."

"I know that, Bethany."

"Well, sometimes couples go through a rough patch…"

"Bethany! In case you've forgotten, I _have _been married! Do you think I don't realise they're having difficulties? I wish you and Fletcher would stop fobbing me off! I'm not a piece of china, in case you hadn't noticed! I won't break if you confide in me!"

Bethany stared at her mother, open-mouthed, suddenly comprehending that, in their efforts to protect her, she and Fletcher had only succeeded in causing her to worry even more.

"Or perhaps you think I'm only here to dispense tea and cake?"

"Oh, Mother, no!" Bethany's lip wobbled and she wrapped her arms around Leandra's waist.

Leandra cupped Bethany's face and sighed. "Oh, Bethany…I'm sorry. I-I've just…you and Fletcher never come to me like you used to. I worry so much about you both." Leandra tutted and shook her head as tears threatened to spill from her eyes.

"Oh, Maker," grumbled Gamlen, turning away from the embarrassing spectacle. "I'm going to carry on," he announced. "Catch me up whenever…ugh…" He walked off, leaving Bethany and Leandra to talk about _women's _things.

"You're right, Mother," Bethany said, barely noticing Gamlen's departure. "Maker knows _I've_ been worried about him going on the expedition, and you don't know anything about it, do you? You must have been imagining all kinds of things."

"I have," Leandra replied. "There could be all manner of monsters down there. And the darkspawn…I know you think I'm fussing, but I can't help it. I-I don't want to lose another son, dear."

"I know, Mother." Bethany took one of her mother's hands and led her down a side alley toward central Lowtown. "I know where we can go; Varric has a little place he's looking after. There are a few bottles of wine there. We'll snuggle up and have a girly chat, just like we used to."

"Oh, darling, that would be wonderful," smiled Leandra.

"I'll tell you everything that's been going on: the expedition, what happened up in the mountains. Fletcher _did _get hurt, but he'll be fine. I'll tell you all about it." Bethany knew that the only thing she couldn't share with her mother was that he was a blood mage.

It didn't take them long to reach the safehouse, and Bethany took out the chain around her neck that now held a key to the property as well as one to Varric's room at the Hanged Man. A small sealed note was nailed to the door and she pulled it off, squinting in the fading light to read it:

_Varric Tethras! You cannot avoid me forever!_

_Will either you, Hawke, or preferably both of you, report to the barracks forthwith! And don't think you can run off on that expedition of yours, either! _

_You cannot just claim ownership of an abandoned property that is actually owned, I'll have you know, by the sodding CHANTRY! _

_Get your arses up here or so help me, I'll come and find you both._

_GUARD-CAPTAIN (remember that?) Vallen._

"What's that, dear?" asked Leandra.

"Just a welcome note from one of Varric's friends," chirped Bethany, slipping the note into a pocket on her robe.

~o~O~o~

Hawke closed the door and turned around, just as Fenris rose from the table, although his eyes were fixed firmly upon it.

"Do you…would you feel more comfortable if one of them came back?" Hawke asked, thumbing toward the door.

Fenris looked up and shook his head, and then closed his eyes, his shoulders sagging.

"The door's unlocked," Hawke told him.

Fenris's eyes opened and he frowned. "I…why…?"

"I just want you to feel safe." Hawke slowly walked over to the table, his eyes on the kitchen door. "May I fetch you a drink, Fenris?" he offered.

"I already have one. Make yourself one, if you wish," answered the elf. "Not that you need my permission to make yourself a drink."

"I know that," Hawke replied with a gentle smile. "How are you feeling?"

"I…" Fenris shrugged his shoulders and his eyes slowly travelled up to meet Hawke's. The mage stood only a few feet away, the closest they'd been to each other all day, and for the first time he noticed how pale and drawn Hawke appeared. Fenris hung his head again, the realisation finally dawning on him that the last couple of days had been just as hard on Hawke as they had on him.

"I'm…sorry," he whispered, the memory of the tearful Hawke slumped against the mansion wall returning to him. "You have exhausted yourself looking for me. You-you should sit down. I will bring you a drink."

Fenris moved aside to allow Hawke access to the settee, and, when Hawke didn't move, he turned away and headed for the kitchen, only to feel a gentle touch to his arm.

Fenris stopped in his tracks, his heart racing. Hawke, the man – the blood mage - he wasn't even sure he could trust, was standing behind him, a dangerous position for anyone, and yet Hawke didn't move away. Warmth trickled into Fenris's veins as his markings bloomed their warning, surrounding him in a gentle blue corona, but still Hawke held his place.

"Hawke…you shouldn't-"

"I know you won't hurt me. I _trust _you, Fenris. Please don't run away from me."

Hawke's hand gently clasped Fenris's arm, turning him around, and the elf, weak with confusion, offered no resistance, although the glow of his markings did not wane.

Hawke raised his free hand, resting it against Fenris's other arm and took a small step closer. "Don't run away from me."

The urge to flee came strongly upon Fenris again, yet he also remembered the relief that had coursed through him when he'd spied Hawke entering the courtyard of the mansion. He'd thought that solace could be found in isolation, in making himself invisible, in removing himself so that nobody would have to look at him or suffer his company, but Hawke had risked his health to seek him out, and now offered Fenris solace of a different kind in his arms.

Making the decision for him, Hawke closed the gap as war broke out between Fenris's head and heart, and both thumped in tandem, sending him giddy; his markings responded to the perceived threat and flared violently even as his hands moved to rest against Hawke's chest, half pulling at his robe, half pushing him away.

"The door's unlocked," Hawke reminded him, and the glow of his markings lessened slightly. "You can leave at any time."

"…No."

Fenris's eyes closed and warmth enveloped him as Hawke's arms came around his shoulders, and he buried his face in the elf's hair. Fenris removed his hands from Hawke's chest and slid them around his back, the light of his markings waning as they held each other, Fenris finally finding his solace from the nightmares.

For now, Fenris's heart was winning the war.


	45. Chapter 45

_I cannot thank my tireless beta-reader, and friend, Mary (Shakespira) enough for her help and hard work on this chapter. She really went above and beyond, and I am blessed to have her help and wisdom at my disposal._

_Thanks also to Carina (the14th) for making me think, and for being so gracious, as well as Shini-neko-chan and Voice-of-the neurotic for your PMs and support._

~o~O~o~

Hawke and Fenris slowly pulled apart and stood together, still close but not touching, neither of them sure what to say. Fenris's mind raced as he desperately sought the appropriate words, anything to break the silence. Anything to break the push-and-pull, the dual repulsion and attraction he felt towards Hawke. Anything that would distract him from his ambivalence, his confusion, and the urgent _need _that surged up from his belly and flooded his chest.

If only he knew what that need_ was_.

"I will fetch you a drink," Fenris offered again; it was the distraction he needed, an inconspicuous way to put space between them. He stepped further back, his eyes on the kitchen door. _Escape. Solitude. Freedom. _"Please sit down; you are clearly exhausted."

"All right, Fen. I'll do what you say," Hawke replied, his voice soft and quiet. He moved over to the settee, taking up his usual spot, leaving Fenris's preferred seat free.

"I will return shortly." Fenris quickly disappeared into the kitchen and leaned heavily against the counter, closing his eyes and releasing a long sigh. Opening them, he looked around the kitchen; it was large and cold, and he felt very small and lonely in there. Once again, a need, a compulsion, a longing, swelled within him and his eyes moved to the wall. On the other side of that wall Hawke sat on the settee they'd once slept upon, in front of a roaring fire. _Warmth. Company. Safety._

What did he really want?

Fenris shook his head, annoyed at his weakness and vacillation, and filled the kettle, hanging it over the fire. After a brief search, he found the biscuit barrel, and paused when he saw several pieces of home-made shortbread within. Fletcher had taught him how to make shortbread. Fletcher was teaching him to read. Again, he glanced over at the wall as though he could see through it.

A blood mage was in the next room. Danarius and Hadriana were blood mages. Most of the Magisters of the Imperium, people he'd seen performing unspeakable acts in the pursuit of power, were blood mages. And yet, theblood mage in the next room liked shortbread. He cried. He was a dreadful worrier. He would do anything for his friends and family. His mother had made slippers for him. He'd gone out searching for Fenris despite being ill and so tired he was on the verge of collapse. He'd argued with his friend, Anders, while defending Fenris.

He'd told Anders he _loved _Fenris.

When Bethany had first told him of Fletcher's past, Fenris's suspicious nature, the side of him that always looked for deception, at first made him surmise that her story was fabricated, that she was making excuses for his status. After all, Fletcher was fiercely protective of his sister; surely she would also do anything for him?

And then, the guilt had surfaced. Bethany was a _good _person. How could Fenris think her capable of such trickery? Because _Fenris _was not a good person, that's how. He looked for lies and wrongdoing at every turn; even more so since he'd become involved with a group that mostly consisted of mages. But those mages, even Anders - whom Fenris disliked intensely - had not once displayed any evil or immoral leanings. Not once.

And, as Bethany had related Fletcher's past and the reasons for his treaty with a demon, Fenris had found the story becoming more and more plausible as she'd gone on. Had the story been about Danarius, Hadriana, or any of the other Magisters, he would have thought it ludicrous and unbelievable.

But applied to Fletcher? It not only seemed plausible; it made perfect sense.

The small group Hawke had assembled had encountered many bandits, mercenaries and other miscreants on their travels; some of their victories had been hard won, but not once had Fletcher used his powers. Even in the direst of circumstances he hadn't given into temptation. Fletcher did not seem the type to use blood magic just because he could, because it was easy to do so. Fletcher _hadn't_ learned blood magic with the acquisition of power in mind.

Everything Fenris had ever held to be true about blood mages, everything he had once been absolutely certain of, and his beliefs - the only things that had been _real _and _constant _during his life of servitude – had been utterly demolished. How could he trust his own judgement? Who was right? Would anything ever make sense again? Would he ever regain that sense of _knowing_, of absolute _certainty_?

And Fenris had laid himself bare to Fletcher, had dared to trust him, and on two occasions (that he knew of) Fletcher had betrayed that trust, had kept things from him. Not minor things, but things that were of vital importance to Fenris.

In the deepest recesses of his heart, his mind, though, Fenris knew _why _Fletcher had not told him at first.

It should be so simple. Fenris should be able to look past the secrets, which, in comparison to everything Fletcher had done _for _Fenris, in comparison to how Fletcher made him _feel,_ _were _minor. But, deep inside, there was a part of Fenris that still expected more betrayal, more lies, and more hurt.

And Fenris detested that part of himself. But it was as much a part of him as blood magic - and a demon - were a part of Fletcher. _Fletcher_, however, had been strong and had resisted using his powers, renouncing his relationship with his demon. Fenris _believed _that to be true. So why couldn't Fenris also be strong and renounce the part of himself he detested and which caused him, and others, such pain?

Would he _ever_ be able to do that?

Gathering himself, he made the tea and took it through to the living room, but left the biscuits behind. Fletcher, understandably, was asleep, his hands folded in his lap, his head lolling to the side. Fenris set the tea down and stood watching him; for how long, he didn't know.

Fletcher's hair was, as usual, a mess; his robe was badly creased and his boots were scuffed and caked in mud. His mouth hung open, and, before long, drool started negotiating its way out of it. This time, there was no beard to stop its path, and Fenris had to bite back a snigger as the liquid began to pool on Fletcher's shoulder before sinking in, leaving a dark patch on his robe, which was quite a feat as it was black. One of Fletcher's legs twitched and he snorted, batted his nose with his hand and then slumped and started snoring.

Was _this_ man evil, immoral, power-crazed?

Taking up his own cup of tea, Fenris sat upon the seat with the Fenris-shaped dent and sank back, watching the fire. And there he waited, as Fletcher had once waited with him back at the mansion.

~o~O~o~

"I don't expect you to understand, Justice. You _don't _understand me; that's as clear as day. What's also clear is that you've never made any _attempt _to understand me. Why should now be any different?"

"_Your behaviour of late has been erratic and confounding. That is what I do not understand. What are your reasons? What drives you to conduct yourself in such a manner? Why did you abandon Hawke?"_

"You _know _why!"

"_Despite your explanation, I still do not understand how this motivates your actions. Hawke is _not _Ruben. You have not seen Ruben for many years. You should have reconciled his loss by now."_

"Just because I haven't seen him for _many years _doesn't mean I don't still care about him! It doesn't mean I've forgotten him! _That _is the part I can't seem to make _you _understand! And I haven't lost him! As far as I know, he's still alive!"

"_I _do_ understand that mortals form bonds with one another, Anders. I _feel _what you feel; do you forget that? I feel the tightness in your stomach, the ache in your chest; I taste the salt in your tears as they trickle down your throat. I feel all of it. But I do not understand how Ruben is connected to Hawke."_

"He reminds me of him! How many more times do I have to say it?"

"_I see Ruben when you think of him. His physical appearance differs vastly from that of Hawke's."_

"I mean his mannerisms, Justice! His sense of humour, the way he laughed…even-even his voice…"

"_Anders…"_

Anders dashed tears from his eyes and took a deep breath. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. It's bad enough that I think about him every time I see Hawke; I can't…I can't _talk_ about him as well."

"_How do you expect me to understand if you will not discuss your feelings? Remember, Anders, that upon completion of the Deep Roads expedition, Hawke will be working with us at the clinic. At that time, the first stage of our plan will commence. You must-"_

"I don't want to hear any more about how _strong _I need to be, Justice! I know, all right? I bloody _know_! Just-just give me a bit of quiet time, eh? _Please_, Justice."

The spirit fell silent but the pounding in Anders's head did not cease. He leaned against a wall in his private room at the rear of the clinic and placed his hands over his face. For a moment he considered casting upon himself to relieve the pressure building inside his skull, but decided against it. He didn't _want _to feel better.

Why wouldn't Hawke _listen_ to him? Why was he bent on harming himself, on pushing his body to its very limit? Why had he taken up with someone who hated everything he was and who treated him so badly?

Why couldn't Anders _protect_ him? He couldn't face losing another-

"No. Hawke _is not _Ruben. He's _not_. Get that into your thick head, Anders!" He pushed away from the wall and went over to the small basin in the corner, splashing cool water over his face. He was glad that his squalid little den didn't contain a looking glass; he didn't much care to look at himself right now, or to see the emptiness, the hopelessness he felt reflected back in his eyes.

A patient. That's what he needed; someone he could care for, someone who would look at him with reverence and admiration, as many residents of the undercity did. Someone who would thank him, appreciate him.

And that was enough. The fact that most of those very same people never asked him how _he _was, how he paid for his supplies or if he needed any help was beside the point. He didn't _need_ them to care about him. He didn't _need_ them to love him.

Again, he gave silent thanks that there was no mirror in his private room, for if he glanced at himself in one now, he would also see the lies he continued to feed himself.

He towelled off his face and ventured up the stone steps to the main room of the clinic, hoping that someone up there would need his care; healing the sick filled the gaping hole in his soul, if only briefly.

Pushing open the door at the top of the steps, he started as he almost knocked Mallory over. She'd been standing very close to the door, and she jumped back, emitting a startled yelp as he emerged.

"A-Anders! Oh, I wasn't…I mean…I-I just…I heard voices. Raised voices. I didn't intend to listen, but I couldn't help it; I was worried. Are you all right?" There was caution in her voice and fear in her eyes, and she took a further step back as Anders took one forward.

"Mallory? You're still here?"

"Well…where else would I be?" Her eyes widened, and Anders realised that she must have seen him enter his private room when he returned to the clinic…alone.

"Is…someone else down there?" she asked tentatively, her eyes flitting to the door.

"No."

Mallory's eyes dropped to the floor, and then wandered back to the door. Her hands were tightly clasped in front of her. "But…I heard two voices…" She trailed off, and her bright blue eyes widened further as she stood awkwardly, both of them now aware that Anders had been talking to himself, or so it seemed.

Anders sighed and hung his head, taking a few steps back to afford Mallory some space. "I'm surprised you don't know," he said quietly, his posture making him appear smaller. "I'm host to a Fade spirit. Sometimes…we disagree," he added with a hollow laugh.

"Oh," murmured Mallory. "Erm…one of the lads said something about that, but I didn't believe him. I didn't even know that was possible."

"Neither did we - Justice and I - I mean; that's his name. It was sort of an experiment. I'm glad that it worked out, but sometimes…oh, never mind. Anyway, Mallory, there's no need to be afraid. I know it was probably weird for you to hear me talking to him, but…he's a good spirit, very decent."

"You sounded upset, Anders."

Anders breathed deeply through his mouth, slowly exhaling out of his nose. "I'm-I'm fine. Just a bit of silliness," he said briskly, squeezing past Mallory. "Any patients?"

"Erm…Luke and big Beatrice came in while you were out with your friends, but I sent them away with a couple of your potions. I hope you don't mind."

"_Mind_?" Anders laughed and his posture relaxed a little as he turned back. "Why would I mind?"

"Well, I was just thinking that maybe you'd feel I was trying to take over or something," she uttered.

"Mallory, I told you earlier that you're Maker-sent!" he replied lightly, and then his face fell a little at Mallory's nervousness. "I really did frighten you, didn't I? I'm sorry. I hope-I hope you don't think differently of me, now."

Mallory shrugged and stepped a little closer to Anders. "It's strange, I'll admit. But…well, you don't strike me as a frightening person. Lonely, though. I _do_ see that in you."

Anders gasped and felt a burning in his stomach. A heavy frown appeared and he stared, stunned, at the small young woman before him.

"I shouldn't have said that," she quickly defended. "I'm sorry. I'm used to being free with my opinions. Sometimes I run my mouth off, and sometimes I say things that I have no business saying."

"Um, no, it-it's fine," Anders mumbled. "It _can_ be a bit isolated down here sometimes," he added with a forced smile. "It's enough to drive a man cuckoo!"

A flicker of sadness in Mallory's eyes was quickly blinked away as she returned Anders's smile. "Well…while it's quiet, would you care for some company? We could have a bite to eat, and you can tell me all about…Justice? If…you want to, that is."

Anders's smile widened, and his eyes sparkled as warmth tickled his insides. "I'd like that, Mallory."

"I told you to call me Mal," she scolded with a cheeky grin.

"I'd like that, _Mal_," he teased, and waved his hand, indicating that she precede him. "After you."

~o~O~o~

Fletcher slept for a long time. Fenris was determined to stay awake, although he wasn't sure why. It certainly wasn't out of fear of Fletcher; he had long stopped suspecting Fletcher of harming him, even with the discovery of his status as a maleficar. No, it was something else; Fenris found the near-silence, accompanied by Hawke's breathing and the occasional snort, soothing after the noise, the pain and the fear of his flashback.

In Hightown, when he'd stood before Donnic – the friend he'd almost-

A shudder travelled through him as he remembered how close he'd come…how easily he could hurt those he cared about, or worse. Not only did he feel wretchedly guilty but he was furious with himself for yet again losing control. He'd lost control at the barracks and he'd lost control in Hightown, when Donnic, Sebastian and Hawke had decided what was going to be done with him.

He didn't blame them for that, of course; Fenris had been in no state to decide anything, then. But being in control of a situation, knowing _exactly _what was going to happen, was important to Fenris; vital, even, after living for so long as a being – a _chattel -_ with no control over his destiny whatsoever.

Here, sitting next to the slumbering Hawke, he _was_ in control. He knew that every exhalation of Hawke's would be followed by another. He knew that the logs on the fire would pop occasionally and that now and again Hawke would shift slightly or mumble something under his breath. Fenris hadn't found comfort in being alone after all; before he'd met Hawke, he'd become accustomed to being on his own, but he realised that he was nowaccustomed to company; Hawke's company. He knew that the two of them had a long road, paved with hard and possibly hurtful discussions, ahead of them, but, in the meantime, he would enjoy the simple calm that company, and being in control, brought.

Fenris's enjoyment, however, was short-lived. A key noisily rattling in the door snapped him out of his relaxed state, and he sat up straight as the cantankerous man he'd briefly met earlier entered. Both men stared at each other uneasily for a moment before Gamlen closed the door and walked over to the settee.

"Is he-"

"Asleep," Fenris finished for him.

Gamlen nodded, folded his arms and eyed Fenris carefully, sizing him up. "So…you're an elf, then."

"The last time I looked, yes. And you are a human," Fenris answered with equanimity.

Gamlen pointed at his dozing nephew. "And what are _you_ to _him_?"

"I am…a friend," replied Fenris after some consideration.

"A friend? Or a _friend_?"

"I'm sorry, I don't quite understand the question. A friend is a friend."

"Are you the elf Leandra keeps harping on about? The one Fletcher's addled over?"

Fenris was baffled by the man's strange questions, but kept his tone polite. "As your sister is not here, I cannot know the answer to that. Perhaps you should ask her? If it helps, my name is Fenris."

"Yes, _that's_ the one." The disapproval in Gamlen's expression was clear, but the creases in his face told Fenris there wasn't much the man _didn't _disapprove of. "Well…just keep the noise down," he warned, and headed toward his bedroom.

"I will," the elf promised, hiding his amusement well.

"If he wakes up, tell him that his sister and mother are getting leathered in that place the dwarf has just bought."

"_Bought_? Oh…yes, I see," answered Fenris, knowing exactly where Gamlen meant. "I will tell him. Goodnight."

"Hmph," grunted Gamlen before he closed his door and locked it.

"Has he gone, yet?" whispered Hawke, opening one eye.

"You are awake," said Fenris, pointing toward Gamlen's room.

Hawke nodded, stretched, and sat himself up. "How long have I been asleep?"

"I am uncertain, but your tea is cold."

"Oh, I'm sorry-"

"You needed to sleep, Hawke. Do not trouble yourself over it." Fenris fidgeted in his seat and edged away from Hawke slightly, his fleeting sense of control slowly slipping away from him now that Hawke had awoken.

Hawke noticed the movement, and hurt, fierce and bright, scalded his stomach. "You're…back to calling me Hawke, then?" He regretted his question as soon as it had left his mouth; it was a cheap shot, and he knew it, resulting from his injured pride. He'd caused much more hurt to Fenris, who hadn't deserved that. "I'm…sorry. Call me what you think is appropriate. I'm-I'm sorry. Bloody hell, I'm so selfish. How are you feeling, Fenris?"

"You are back to calling me Fenris," said the elf, his tone even.

Hawke turned his head toward Fenris, a weak smile hesitantly tugging at his mouth. "Was that a joke?"

"I don't know; was it?" No smile graced Fenris's face, and his voice was perfectly emotionless.

Hawke, crestfallen when Fenris hadn't returned his smile, unconsciously increased the distance between them by crossing his legs and leaning away slightly. "We're being awfully polite with each other, aren't we?"

Fenris clasped his hands together and stared at the fire, sighing quietly. "We are."

"You don't need to be, you know. I want you to say what's on your mind. I want you to yell at me, call me every name under the sun, pound me with your fists if it makes you feel better."

"What would that accomplish?" Fenris asked steadily. "Besides, I do not think your uncle would appreciate me _yelling_."

"He'd probably join in with you, actually." Hawke pushed himself forward and stood up, vainly attempting to smooth some of the creases out of his robe. "Would you like to take a walk with me?"

Fenris shook his head. "You are going nowhere. Did you not see the concern on your mother's face?"

"I'm not suggesting we walk to Sundermount, F-" Hawke paused, unsure of what to call the elf. "I just feel like a sniff of air, that's all. If I break into a sprint, you have my permission to take me down."

Fenris recognised the humour in Hawke's words, but was uncertain whether or not he should smile. "Very well," he conceded as he rose. "We will remain in the slums, though."

"Right, of course."

They stepped outside and Fenris watched Hawke closely as they walked down the steps. Hawke glanced obliquely at the elf and grinned, heartened by his concern.

"I'm not going to faint or anything, you know."

"Good," answered Fenris dryly. "I would not like to be the one to carry you back up the steps."

Hawke laughed quietly and allowed himself the tiny hope that, in spite of everything, he and Fenris might still emerge from the debacle as friends.

"I wouldn't do that to you, F…Fenris."

"I appreciate that."

The two men walked on in silence, not really sure of where they were going, but Hawke gradually steered them toward the Alienage.

"I'm going to show you where I do most of my thinking," Hawke told Fenris. "Yes, I _do _think occasionally, in case you were wondering."

Fenris nodded and, as they descended the steps into the Alienage, he halted, stunned. "This is where-"

"Yes. Where we first met."

Fenris's eyes glazed over as he recalled that night. He'd been so different, then; so bitter and full of vitriol. That part of him was still very much alive, but its presence was now obfuscated, veiled; its voice was softer, its teeth had no bite. It was a part of him that emerged only rarely now, and, when it did, it no longer gave him strength, conviction or purpose. It felt _wrong_. And the man standing next him had been responsible for much of that change in him; the change in his fortunes, the change in his beliefs, his perceptions.

The man standing next to him had changed his entire life.

Right there, on the steps of the Alienage, was where it had all begun; where everything had started to take a turn for the better. This was a very important place, and the revelation that Fletcher spent time there, alone, thinking, signified how important he also considered it to be. Once again, the compulsion - the _need_ - Fenris had experienced earlier took hold of him, but Fenris was no nearer to knowing what that need _was_; he knew what both his head and his heart were telling him, but so far neither had gained the upper hand.

Hawke, seeing that Fenris was deep in thought, stood beside him on the steps and waited. Eventually, the elf blinked and continued on, his brow heavy with care.

"Over here," Hawke said, walking to the Vhenadahl, where he crouched down, re-lighting some of the candles that had gone out. Fenris walked around the tree and assisted, and, before long, the base of the giant tree was surrounded in a soft halo of light. An elderly elf who was passing by bade them good evening and thanked them for keeping the candles lit.

Hawke and Fenris found a space to sit at the foot of the tree, and Hawke leaned against it, looking up at the night sky.

"I was born on 13 Drakonis, 9:04 Dragon," Hawke informed him. Fenris glanced at him and frowned, not understanding.

"I'm starting from the beginning," explained Hawke. "You're going to know everything about me, with nothing left out. _If _you can stay awake, that is."

An intimation of a smile skittered along Fenris's mouth. "I will do my best."

"Do…_you_ know when you were born?" Hawke asked cautiously.

"I do," answered Fenris. "I once managed to glimpse my papers…Danarius's proof of ownership. One of the other slaves, who had a rudimentary grasp of reading and writing, was able to tell me the date."

Hawke nodded but said nothing.

"8 Kingsway, 9:01 Dragon," Fenris told him. "The occasion was not celebrated, however; not like it would be here."

"Kingsway's passed," Hawke said sadly. "Although…we _could _have a belated celebration."

"I have never celebrated my Naming Day. I do not even know what my name _is_. _Fenris_ was 'gifted' to me by Danarius."

"Do you mind being called that?"

Fenris shrugged and also looked up at the sky. "It is as good a name as any, I suppose."

The creak of a door caught their attention, and Merrill stepped out of her small house, situated across from them. "Here again, Hawke?" she called, before she spotted Fenris. "Oh. Good evening, Fenris."

"Merrill."

"Merrill often cops me out here," Hawke told Fenris. "She usually very kindly brings me a cup of tea and sits with me for a bit. Most of the time, we're quiet; it's nice to share silence with someone." He then turned to face the Dalish elf, who slowly walked over to them. "I'm sorry, Merrill; I forgot the shortbread tonight."

"Oh, that's all right, Hawke. Well, I can see that you two probably want to talk. I'll leave you to it. If…you want to pop in afterwards, you'd be very welcome. You too, Fenris."

Fenris nodded and then glanced uncertainly at Hawke.

"We'll do that, Merrill; thank you," Hawke replied.

"Right, then, I'll leave you to it. Erm…I've already said that, haven't I? I am daft. Do you-do you want a blanket or anything? It's a bit nippy out, isn't it? Mind you, I've only got the one."

"We're fine, thanks, Merrill. You have the blanket," Hawke answered with a smile. "We'll see you in a while."

"Oh, right. I'm going, then." Merrill turned and scampered back into her house, closing the door behind her.

"Hardly fits the stereotype of an evil blood mage, does she?" Hawke asked Fenris, who stared at the door to Merrill's home, giving a reluctant shrug.

"We come in all shapes and sizes," he went on. "I'm not trying to make excuses, though, but in Ferelden and the Free Marches blood mages are pariahs; they don't have the power and prestige that they do in the Imperium. Most blood mages don't draw attention to themselves, and some of them are even pretty decent people."

Expecting a rebuttal, Hawke was surprised when Fenris leaned back against the tree and sighed. "I don't know what to think anymore," the elf said shortly, frustration in his voice. "Everything I have ever known, everything I ever believed, has been turned on its head. Rarely have I felt so…perturbed."

"I know. And I'm sorry that…I'm sorry it was such a dreadful shock to you. I _could _have told you, several times, in fact. But I was weak and selfish. I didn't want to lose you. As my feelings for you deepened, though, I knew that I couldn't go on lying to you. The thought of you finding out without me having told you…I hope you'll believe me when I say that I didn't care for the consequences to myself in that eventuality, but rather I cared about how _you _would feel. I _had _to tell you, even though I knew it would very likely destroy everything we have…had."

Fenris hung his head and bent his legs, resting his elbows on them. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out.

"You must feel like the rug's been pulled out from under your feet," Hawke said.

Fenris's head turned in Hawke's direction, but he didn't look at him. "Yes, that is exactly how I feel. You understand."

"Never be in any doubt that I _know_ what I've done to you. I wish…if I could go back…oh, it's pointless to think that, isn't it? What's done is done."

"I…do understand how difficult it must have been for you to tell me," Fenris replied. "I also understand that there are…extenuating circumstances. I still-it does not make the news easier to bear, however. The thought that _you_-" Fenris stiffened momentarily and then sighed. "I know that you have not had an easy life. I know of the sacrifices you have made, of what you have lost. I am not without sympathy for you. It's just…it's difficult."

"I know that," Hawke said in a hushed tone, "and it's very decent of you to see my side, as well."

"You are not Danarius, and you never will be. When I compared you to him that one time, I-I…that was wrong of me. Terribly wrong."

"You were angry, and you had good reason to be."

"No." There was anger in Fenris's voice, anger directed at himself. "I see now what you were trying to do. Sometimes, when emotions are involved, when they take over, one can be blinded to the motivations of others. At the time, I did not see; I did not _want _to see. I was blind; to you, and to everyone else. I should have…I know why you kept it from me. You were correct, Hawke; I _would _have taken off into the mountains alone, where I would likely have been re-captured. How, then, would you and the rest of my friends have felt? My actions were utterly selfish and I know how much I hurt _you _with my reaction. I will _never_ forget the look on your face. I am far from being perfect, Hawke. None of us are."

Hawke sat forward and inched closer to Fenris. "You know, we can keep blaming ourselves and apologising until we're blue in the face. Let's just stop it, now, both of us. What do you say?"

Hawke offered the elf his hand, and Fenris considered the gesture for a moment before extending his own hand and shaking it. Both men then folded their hands in their laps, mirroring each other as they leaned back against the tree.

"Will you listen, Fen, if I tell you everything? Once you know everything, you can decide what you want to do, with _all _the facts at your disposal. I'm going to tell you now, though, that I don't intend to give you up easily, but if friendship is all you feel you can give, I'll take it. I…need you in my life, Fen, in _some_ capacity. I didn't realise how empty my life was before you came along."

Fenris's eyes lowered and he squeezed them closed, a deep furrow appearing between his brows. He knew that Fletcher spoke from his heart, that his words were the truth. The impulse, the compulsion, now manifested as a yearning, a _hunger_. He now knew what he hungered for, but denied it himself even so, afraid and uncertain of what he was about to hear. He slowly opened his eyes and drew a shaky breath. "Yes, I will listen."

After a few moments of silence, Hawke proceeded to tell Fenris his life story, right from the very beginning. He shared tales from his childhood; some funny, some sad, and some downright strange. As he talked, he noticed the occasional bob of Merrill's head through the small window at the front of her house, and Hawke knew that she was concerned about them, and probably still felt guilty about 'revealing' Hawke's secret.

Hawke told his story confidently and engagingly, only becoming more subdued as he approached his teenage years. Fenris noticed a change in Hawke's entire demeanour when he mentioned Dalton Bradshaw, and the friendship the two young men had shared.

"Your sister has already explained what happened to your friend," Fenris said, not wanting Hawke to re-live the story of Dalton's demise unnecessarily. "I am…sorry for what happened."

"Thank you." Hawke cleared his throat and again sat forward, crossing his legs and holding onto his feet. Fenris imagined it was how a child would sit. "Beth didn't actually tell you everything," Hawke said quietly, his eyes fixed on a point in the distance. "Fen, I'm going to tell you things now that _nobody _knows; not even Mother or Beth."

"You do not have to-"

"I've never told anyone and I _need _to tell someone," Hawke broke in. "I can't tell Beth or Mother, and I trust you as much as I trust them. You may not approve of, or like, what I'm going to say. But this is part of who I am, who I've become, and you _need _to know."

"I am ready," said the elf stoically, his jaw clenching in anticipation of what was to come.

"I want you to know that I never promised Father not to tell anyone; it was just assumed, really, but I'm not breaking my word by telling you. Under the circumstances, I think Father would understand, anyway."

Fenris nodded and waited. Hawke took a deep breath, then another.

"Father…Father was also a blood mage."

A jolt, a surge of panic shot through him but he remained as a statue, careful not to let Hawke see his discomfort; this was obviously not easy for him to talk about. "Oh," he murmured as myriad thoughts raced through his head: what kind of a man had Hawke's father been? Hawke hadn't known he was a blood mage, so had his father practised it in secret, or not at all? Had his father congratulated Fletcher on his new-found power, or had he censured his son?

Hawke's eyes were wide as he watched Fenris closely, but he knew the elf was accomplished at masking his feelings when the situation demanded it. "When he found out about me…he-he told me. I was very upset at the time and didn't take in everything he told me, but apparently it was something to do with the Grey Wardens. They _forced_ him to use blood magic," he said angrily, his voice trembling.

"Forced? How?"

"It was…damn, I wish I'd listened more at the time," Hawke replied, shaking his head. "He _did _explain it to me, but I just couldn't take it all in. What I know for certain is that he did it to protect his family; apparently those bastards threatened Mother, who was pregnant! Father had no choice!" He took a deep breath and lowered his voice, conscious of the late hour.

"He was a _good _man, Fenris; even though he was forced into it, he was appalled, horrified, that he would be forever bound to a demon. What I'm trying to tell you, Fen, is that he was in the same position as me: he used blood magic _once _and never used it again. He told me that's what I had to do: I had to completely separate myself from my demon and _never_ give in to temptation; I would lose myself if I ever did. I looked up to my father, Fen; he was everything to me. I swore to him at the time that I would never use it again and I'm swearing it to _you_, now. Father said he would always be there to guide me if ever I faltered, but…"

A lull took the conversation, and Fenris could see that Hawke was struggling to keep his emotions in check.

"…If I may ask, how did your father…?"

"D-do you mind if I tell you that another time, Fen? I-I know that I said I would tell you everything, but I-I don't want to…I'll probably embarrass us both if I tell you now, and I want to tell you everything else."

"Of course," Fenris said softly. "Forgive me; I did not mean to-"

"No, it's fine, really. I've just…I've never come to terms with losing him and I still find it really hard to talk about. I just want you to know that there was nothing sinister about his death. It was nothing to do with his demon, or anything like that. I _will _tell you one day, Fen, I promise. Just not now."

"I understand. Tell me only what you feel comfortable with."

"Please don't judge my father, Fenris; he was as good a man as ever walked Thedas. He was a giant to me. I usually tell Beth everything but I don't want to shatter the illusion she has of him. She might not understand. I-I _know _that blood mages can be good people. I…"

Hawke clasped his hands together, but not before Fenris noticed that they were shaking. "Would you like to go home?" asked the elf.

"No, no…I-I want to tell you about Dalton," Hawke spluttered.

"I already know," Fenris intoned, placing his hand on Hawke's arm, wanting the conversation to end; as much for his sake as for Hawke's. He could feel his control of the situation deteriorating along with Hawke's. "Do not torture yourself further. Please, let us go back."

"Dalton was a mage," Hawke blurted out.

"I…don't understand," said Fenris. "Bethany told me that you suspected, but that he denied it?"

"He denied it all along, but he confessed the night before…that was why he was so troubled. He didn't _want _to be a mage. When I told him that I'd made a deal with a demon, he got this look in his eyes and it all came tumbling out. His family were good people but they were very old-fashioned. His parents had told him that, although they had nothing against Father, Beth and I, they felt blessed that no child of theirs had been born a mage."

"So he kept it secret?"

Hawke nodded. "For almost twelve years. I always had suspicions, though." Hawke turned his palms upwards and showed them to Fenris. "You probably already know this, but mages have rough patches, marks, on certain places on their palms. Look." Fenris examined Hawke's palms closely and nodded.

"Yes; I know the marks of which you speak. Mages have special glands on their palms. I am aware of this."

"Well, Dalton wore gloves a lot; that wasn't unusual, with him being a farmhand and all, but I saw him without them a couple of times, and I was certain he had the hands of a mage."

"His status as a mage disturbed him, then?"

"Greatly." Hawke stood up and folded his arms tightly across his chest, keeping his back to Fenris. "That night…we both cried together. We spoke of what tomorrow would bring; neither of us knew. Everything seemed so hopeless. We-we knew, though, that whatever happened, we would have each o-"

Fenris pushed himself to his feet as he heard Hawke's voice break, and stood helplessly as the mage's shoulders trembled.

"S-s-sorry. I-I'm not trying to make you feel sorry for me, I swear. I-it's just such a relief to finally tell someone. I just…I don't understand why he did it. W-was it me? Was he afraid of what I was?"

"It was _not_ your fault," Fenris said firmly, moving to Hawke's side.

"I-I don't know," sighed Hawke, hanging his head. "I guess I'll never know."

"I am honoured that you shared this with me." Fenris's voice was also unsteady and he was deeply concerned at Fletcher's fragility. Fenris touched his arm and started to guide him out of the Alienage; the dazed mage offered no resistance. "I will take you home, now."

"B-but Merrill…"

"She will understand. Perhaps we could visit her tomorrow?"

"Y-you'd come with me?"

"I will go with you," promised the elf, having no intention of leaving Fletcher alone for the time being. "After all, you have invited me into your home. I will accompany you on your travels tomorrow."

"T-thanks. You're…you're a good man, Fen. A very good man."

Fenris didn't answer, but kept hold of Hawke's arm as they left the Alienage.

Merrill, who had been watching through her window, smiled slightly at the tentative accord the two men appeared to have reached, and closed her drapes before locking up for the night.


	46. Chapter 46

_A thousand thanks to the wonderful Mary for her beta, and thanks to all of you for reading, alerting, favouriting and reviewing._

~o~O~o~

Upon their return to the house, they were relieved to find a slightly tipsy Leandra, who was grateful to see them safely back. For a brief time, they engaged in polite conversation, which Fenris and Fletcher welcomed. It wasn't until she had turned in that an awkward silence fell over the room, which Fletcher did his best to fill with inane small-talk.

A short time later, Bethany arrived home, and, once again, a proper conversation started up. After informing Fletcher that Varric wanted to meet him in Hightown the following day, as Aveline wanted to see them, she made a tactful exit and also went to bed. The change in the atmosphere could be felt almost immediately, and, feeling weary, Fletcher decided that he, too, would retire for the night.

Would it ever get any easier for them, he wondered in dismay, as he went in search of blankets. Taking a deep breath, he plunged into the gulf. "Shall I–shall _I_ sleep here on the settee as well?" He held his breath, waiting for an answer.

"Sleep where you wish; this is your home," was the elf's dignified reply, which did little to ease Hawke's mind, but it was _something_.

"Well, it's warm in here, and I wouldn't want to wake Uncle Gamlen…"

"Of course."

Nodding, Fletcher passed Fenris a blanket and took up his seat at the opposite end of the settee, covering himself with his own blanket.

"Goodnight then, Fenris."

"Goodnight, Hawke."

Eventually, fatigue overtook their troubled minds and both men fell asleep, together, yet apart.

~o~O~o~

The following morning was busy as it was bath day in the Hawke household. Gamlen had left early for his shift at the docks, and would bathe upon his return home; the usual routine was that Fletcher would make breakfast while Bethany and Leandra took their baths, before taking his own. Fletcher explained to Fenris that he and Bethany would prepare the baths with his sister creating ice, and him melting it and warming the water up, and offered Fenris the opportunity to step out while they were casting.

The elf thanked him for his consideration and took a walk around the slums. Several people bade him good morning, and, although he didn't know any of them, he politely replied in kind. After a while, he found himself standing on the steps to the Alienage, and once again he thought back to the night he and Fletcher had met. His reverie was broken when he heard the Dalish elf's voice ringing out above all the other elves who milled about preparing for market day at the Alienage; she was out of sight but he could hear her very clearly, rabbiting on about something with one of her neighbours. Although he'd promised to call on her later with Hawke, he wasn't quite ready for her at such an early hour, or without Hawke for that matter, and he turned and headed back to Gamlen's house.

When he arrived, breakfast and a freshly-drawn tub of cool water were waiting for him. He took breakfast with the family first, who had waited for his return.

Taking his seat next to Bethany, he waited until he was invited to help himself to toast and took one piece. Fletcher quickly added two to Fenris's plate and pushed the butter and jam toward him. "Get that down your neck," he instructed the elf.

"There is no need for politeness in the Hawke household," Leandra told him with a smile. "You must help yourself."

"But…this is not my home. I cannot just-"

"It _is_ your home, for as long as you're staying here," Bethany replied, "and even when you're not."

"You are all very kind," the elf said modestly, spreading butter on his toast. "I'm very grateful for your hospitality. May I…pour the tea?" he offered.

"Please do," Leandra replied. As Fenris stirred the pot, Fletcher reached for the butter, only to be stopped by a sharp tap on the arm from his mother, who sat next to him.

"You're to have dry toast, dear."

"What?"

"You are still under Anders's care, and he said that you are to eat plain, bland foods for the next few days. I have full instructions."

"But I'm starving!" Fletcher whined. "Surely that's a sign I'm getting better? Just listen!" He paused, and, sure enough, the growl of his stomach could clearly be heard.

"Then you'll have two pieces," said his mother.

"But Fenris has three!"

"I did not _ask _for three," the elf replied calmly, a hint of mirth in his voice. "I would not manage three pieces."

"That's _your_ problem, not mine," answered Fletcher, and a brief smile passed between the two men.

"_Two_," Leandra repeated, and Fletcher pouted but snatched up two pieces of toast, making a show of pulling a face as he chewed on the tasteless slabs of bread.

"So, what are you boys up to today?" Bethany asked as Fletcher affected a scowl, watching Fenris spread jam on his toast.

"Well, we're going to visit Merrill, if that's still all right?" he asked Fenris, who nodded. "Then we'll go and talk to Bartrand and see what Aveline wants me and Varric for."

"I should probably speak to Aveline as well," the elf added. "Oh…Donnic said he would call on me," he said to Leandra. "I am uncertain whether he will call here."

"I think that's what he meant," Hawke said, and his face fell a little. "I suppose I should call on Anders as well, but I'll do that later…is there anything else you'd like to do, Fen…ris?"

After thinking for a moment, the elf nodded. "There is something, yes, but I will discuss it with you on the way to the Alienage."

"Oh, all right, then," Fletcher replied lightly, but he wondered why Fenris wouldn't discuss it in front of his family.

After breakfast was cleared away, Fenris took his bath and emerged to find that Donnic had arrived, and that he was talking outside with Hawke. Fenris remained inside, not wanting to intrude in case they were having a private discussion. After a while, Hawke popped his head around the door and invited the elf outside.

"Morning, Fenris," Donnic said, offering the elf his hand.

"Good morning, Donnic. How…are you feeling this morning?" The elf glanced at Donnic's neck, which was now bruise-free, and guessed that the Keep's resident healer had attended to him.

"I'm fine, Fen. Did you have a good night?"

"Yes, thank you." Fenris glanced at Hawke and then returned his gaze toward Donnic, although he couldn't quite look him in the eye. "Hawke's family has made me feel very welcome."

"That's great; I knew they would. I spoke to Aveline, and she said she'll suspend your duties for the time being; she was expecting it anyway, what with the expedition coming up. She wants to see you at the barracks, though, at your earliest convenience. She has something for you. Oh, and she said to bring Hawke with you."

"Very clever," Hawke laughed. "She's after me and Varric. We're going there anyway, Don, at around midday. I wonder if it's about the safehouse?"

"Not for me to say," Donnic replied, unable to hide his grin. "Well, I'd best get going; if I'm late back at the barracks, those greedy bastards will have had all the sausages."

"Oh, _don't_," moaned Hawke, clutching his growling belly.

"On a diet, Hawke?" teased Donnic.

"The most boring bloody diet every devised," Hawke bleated, shooting a sour glance at Fenris, who was making a sterling effort not to smile. "Yes, you can gloat, after your strawberry jam on toast!"

"I was not gloating," claimed the elf quietly. "I was merely…frowning in sympathy."

Donnic burst out laughing, and Hawke folded his arms, his dancing eyes betraying his stony face.

"I'll miss you, Fen," Donnic chuckled. "Don't keep him too long on this expedition, eh, Hawke?" Donnic shook their hands. "I'll be in bed when you visit the barracks," he told them. "I know it won't be long before you set out on your big adventure, so make sure you come and say cheerio, all right?"

"We will," Hawke promised, and Fenris nodded his agreement. "Before you go…did you happen to see Anders last night? Was he all right?"

"Yes, I saw him briefly; he seemed okay. I think the clinic was fairly quiet last night. He was making up a load of potions; told me they were for the expedition. There was a young lady helping him."

"Oh, yes, Mallory. I suppose I'd better get some potions done myself," Hawke mumbled absently, and Fenris could see that his mind had wandered at the mention of Anders.

"Be seeing you, then." Donnic clapped them both on the arm and started down the steps. "Don't forget what I said, Fen; come and let me know when you're setting off."

"I will," answered the elf.

"You see, Fen? He's fine," said Hawke as the guardsman headed out of the slums. Fenris continued to watch Donnic without answering. "You ready to go, then?" Hawke asked, doing his best to keep his tone light.

"Yes, I am ready." Hawke could tell that Fenris felt awkward now it was just the two of them, and knew he'd have to do most of the work.

"We'll just pay Merrill a flying visit. I like to check on her now and again; I got into the habit when she first moved in, when she was on her own. She's made a lot of friends in the Alienage, now, though."

Met with a nod, he remembered that Fenris wanted to discuss something with him once they'd left the house. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

"Oh." Fenris blinked as though woken from a dream, and came to a halt at the foot of the steps. "Well, I have received a stipend for the few shifts I undertook with Donnic. It is a modest amount, as I am not a full guard, yet, but it is surplus to what I need. I was thinking…no. Perhaps it would be inappropriate."

"What would be inappropriate?"

"Well," Fenris clasped his hands together and glanced to his side, "your mother. She has…" He glanced down at his slippers, and then briefly at Hawke. "She has been very kind to me. I was wondering…well, I don't know what the custom is, but I would like to…" Fenris shrugged, his eyes moving to the ground.

"You don't have to get her anything in return, you know," Hawke said warmly, touched that Fenris would consider such a gesture. "She's just being a mum. She lives to look after people."

"I-I know, but still…I would like to show my appreciation, but I don't know what would be appropriate."

"Well, she always appreciates flowers."

Fenris shook his head. "Something that will last."

Hawke thought about that as they headed toward the Alienage. "She does like jewellery; she had to leave her gems behind when we fled Lothering, and Beth and I buy her the odd trinket when we can afford it. I'm not suggesting anything expensive, though; she likes anything tasteful and well-made."

"And would that be an appropriate gift?"

"Fenris, if you plucked a weed from a crack in the pavement and tied a ribbon around it, my mother would love it. In fact, she'd probably burst into tears because you'd thought of her."

A small snort escaped through Fenris's nose, and his mouth curved upward slightly. "If a weed would please your mother, would jewellery not be an ostentatious gift?"

"Not at all. Just leave it to me," Hawke assured him. "It's market day, and I'm sure we'll find something."

"Thank you." They walked on in silence for a while until they reached the Alienage, although Hawke noticed Fenris glancing at him occasionally. When they reached the steps, the elf looked ready to burst. "Did you…did you sleep well last night?" Fenris asked as they descended.

"I did," laughed Hawke. "Although I _have_ been up for a couple of hours, you know."

"Yes, I…" Another snort came from the elf, and he shook his head, turning back to face the steps once they'd reached the bottom.

"There's no reason to be afraid of these steps, you know."

"I am not afraid of them. In fact, this is the second time I've found myself here today."

Hawke sat on the bottom step, and Fenris stood next to him, both watching the traders set up their stalls, and both waiting for the other to speak.

"I think of when we first met when I come here, you know," Hawke finally said. "That night…I was a different person, then."

"As was I," admitted Fenris, also taking a seat on the bottom step, a few feet away from Hawke. "I thought you were the spawn of evil."

Hawke laughed softly, his eyes still on the market vendors. "I probably gave you good reason to. I wasn't the nicest of people back then, and I thought _you_ were a conceited arse. How wrong I was."

"We were both wrong."

Hawke shuffled slightly nearer Fenris and looked directly at him. "And what about now? Do you think I'm the spawn of evil all over again?" His voice was soft, with no accusation.

Fenris's head slowly turned toward Hawke, and their eyes met as Fenris seemed to think about his answer.

"Hellooo! Here for a few bargains, are you?"

Fenris's eyes closed, and both men got to their feet as Merrill arrived behind Fenris.

"Morning, Merrill," greeted Hawke. "Fancy coming shopping with us?"

"What are you going to buy?" asked Merrill excitedly. "Um…good morning, Fenris."

"Good morning."

"Well, we're after a gift for my mother, and we thought we'd see what else we could find."

"A gift? Oh, I _love _buying gifts! Is it her Naming Day, Hawke?"

"No, no particular occasion," answered Hawke, knowing by now that if Fenris wanted anyone to know anything, then _Fenris _would tell them. The elf's appreciative look at Hawke confirmed this. "I was thinking maybe jewellery?"

Merrill clasped her chin and tapped her index finger against her lips. "What colour are her eyes, Hawke?"

"Blue."

"Blue eyes, grey hair…I think something in silver or lilac," Merrill mused.

"Exactly!" Hawke enthused, snapping his fingers. "Cool colours with cool colours." His eyes wandered over to Fenris, who wore the fawn undertunic of the Guard along with black leggings.

"What?"

"You shouldn't be wearing _that_," Merrill said to her fellow elf. "It drains you, makes you look sallow."

"…Sallow?" Fenris's nose wrinkled slightly, and he looked morosely at Hawke.

"I don't know about _sallow_," Hawke said diplomatically, "but maybe something in…I don't know…"

"Pink," Merrill chipped in, completely oblivious to the sucking of air through Hawke's teeth and the impossibly dark scowl Fenris threw her way. "I know it's a sort of girly colour, but you don't care what people think, do you, Fenris? Not a rough and tough warrior like you. Ooh! Phraan's store is open! Come on, Fenris!" Merrill took the stupefied elf's hand in her own and dragged him over to one of the clothing stalls, leaving Fenris gaping back at Hawke, his expression that of a suffocating fish.

When Hawke had stopped laughing, he decided he'd better go and rescue Fenris, and walked over to the stall, the occasional snigger bursting forth as he reached them.

"I am _not_ wearing _that_!" Fenris barked at the heedless mage as she held up a ghastly fuchsia-coloured chemise with purple piping.

"Uh, that's a bit fruity even for me," Hawke supplied, unconvincingly hiding his laughter behind a cough.

"But he always wears black, or _that _thing," Merrill protested, looking among Phraan's wares for something else. "He wants to brighten himself up a bit."

"And what makes you think _you_ know what I want to do?" Fenris demanded, exasperated.

"How about this?" Hawke asked quietly, holding up a hip-length, fitted navy blue tunic with a white belt and white embroidery along the neckline and cuffs.

"No! That's too drab!" Merrill pulled a face and continued to sift through Phraan's gaudiest creations.

"It's not drab. It's smart, classy, and modest," Hawke answered, holding Fenris's gaze as he passed it to the elf. "And it's not black." Fenris took the top from him and examined it closely before draping it over his chest. "Do you like it?" Hawke asked him.

"I am not in need of new clothing."

"That's not what I asked." Hawke waved to attract Phraan's attention. "How much for this one, ser?"

The elven merchant walked over to them. "Sixty-five silver apiece for the ones on that table, messere, or two for a sovereign."

"Two, eh? Fenris, you pick the other one."

"I am not paying a sovereign for something I don't need," Fenris insisted.

"You're not paying; I am," Hawke answered.

"No-"

"If you argue, I'll let Merrill pick the other one," Hawke threatened with a glance at the Dalish elf, who had already lost interest and had moved on to the next stall. "Go on, say it. Something beginning with 'P'."

Fenris rolled his eyes, turning his head so Hawke wouldn't see he was on the verge of smiling. "It is hardly necessary to state that which is incontrovertible."

"Merrill will choose pink, you know," Hawke said loudly.

"I will not wear it."

"Then you'd better pick one that you _will _wear."

With a sigh, Fenris stepped over to the stall and cast a cursory glance over the wares on display. Phraan, the stallholder, watched Fenris for a moment and then pointed to the selection of red garments.

"If I might suggest, messere, perhaps a deep maroon; such a hue would look very striking with your colouring."

"Yes…yes!" Hawke stepped past Fenris and sorted out a few likely-looking shirts, presenting them to the elf.

"I do not wear colours."

"What do you call this, then?" asked Hawke, nudging Fenris's tunic. "And don't tell me it's part of your uniform. You're suspended, remember? Off duty? You're _choosing _to wear colours today."

Fenris folded his arms and raised a dark eyebrow. For a moment Hawke was tempted to call attention to it, but decided against it. The back-and-forth between them reminded Hawke of when he and Fenris had first started to develop feelings for each other, but were still wary. Was that what was happening now? Were they feeling each other out all over again?

"Choose one, or _I'll_ choose," Hawke warned Fenris.

Pursing his lips, Fenris pointed to the least bright option, and Hawke handed it over to Phraan. While they waited for the goods to be wrapped, Hawke nodded in the direction of the undergarment section.

"Maybe you should purchase a few pairs of undies? Did you leave yours behind at the barracks?"

"I do not wear them," Fenris informed him impassively, his expression unchanged as Hawke's mouth flew open.

"Wha…honestly?"

"I find them too…confining. I wear a protective truss when battle is anticipated."

"And…what about today?" Hawke teased, only to be met with Fenris's _neutral_ expression. "Um…sorry," mumbled Hawke, his eyes dropping to the ground.

"There is no need to apologise."

"Does that mean you'll answer my question?" Hawke asked hopefully.

"No," uttered the elf, turning his back on the smiling Hawke.

"That'll be a sovereign, messere." Hawke handed Phraan a sovereign in exchange for the wrapped parcel, and caught up with Fenris, who had wandered away from the stall. When Hawke reached him, the elf produced a sovereign.

"No, I told you; I'm paying," Hawke protested. "You're already buying something for Mother."

"There is no need to reciprocate. I will pay for them." Fenris attempted to press the coin into Hawke's palm, but the mage snatched his hand away.

"If there's no need to reciprocate, then why are you buying Mother a gift?"

Fenris shook his head. "That is different."

"No, it's not. Besides…I'm not buying them to reciprocate anything." He passed the parcel to Fenris, who eyed it warily. "Happy Naming Day, Fenris."

"But…I don't…I already told you, my naming day has passed."

"Sorry it's late."

"But…" Fenris carefully turned the parcel over in his hands, his confusion evident.

"Now you _have_ to wear them, else I'll be offended," Hawke told him with a wink, before he turned and walked over to Merrill at the jewellery stand. Fenris watched him go, but didn't notice they were beckoning him over until Merrill shouted his name. He walked over to them, clutching his parcel as though it was a piece of glass that would shatter if he dropped it.

"Merrill's found something I think Mother would love. Look at this."

In his hand was a small, oval brooch, fashioned from silverite with a pale lavender-coloured stone at its centre. Fenris tilted his head, considering it. "What kind of stone is this?" he asked.

"Sundonium, mined from beneath Sundermount," answered Merrill.

"Reasonably priced now while it's plentiful," the stall vendor chipped in. "An investment for the future, messere. They reckon it'll run out in a few years' time; that's when it'll become valuable."

"She would like this?" Fenris asked Hawke, who nodded. Fenris then glanced at Merrill, who turned her attention back to the stall.

"What's wrong?" Hawke asked.

Fenris sighed. "I have never bought a gift for anyone before. It feels…strange. I would not know what to say when I present it to your mother. Are you certain this isn't too grand? Would she not think…I am not suggesting that she would be ungrateful." He sighed again. "I am not making any sense."

Hawke breathed in deeply as his stomach fluttered. He hated seeing Fenris so unsure of himself, and was certain that the events of the last couple of days had exacerbated the elf's already-precarious lack of self-confidence.

"Well…we _could_ buy it together, if you wanted?"

"Together?"

"Just a thought," said Hawke. "That way,_ I_ could present it to Mother, and you wouldn't have to say anything. I'd make it clear it was from both of us, though. This isn't the sort of thing I'd usually buy for Mother, although I know she'll love it. I think she'll guess it's really from you."

Fenris's eyes moved to the side, and then to Hawke, and he nodded. "Yes. We will buy it together." A soft smile appeared and he held Hawke's gaze for a moment. "Thank you."

Hawke smiled back. "It's Merrill you ought to be thanking. She found the brooch."

Fenris's shoulders stiffened and a grim look tightened his face as he slowly walked over to Merrill, his movements rigid but dignified, like he was walking to his own execution. Hawke clapped a hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking as he watched the discourse between the two elves: a few curt nods and mumbled utterances from Fenris, and a few slaps to the arm and giggles from Merrill, plus a fair amount of bouncing.

Feeling as though his smile would never leave him, Hawke approached the vendor and haggled a fair price for the brooch, which he and Fenris paid for between them. After perusing a few more stalls, and waiting very patiently while Merrill agonised over choosing a new scarf, eventually settling on _another_ green one, Fenris and Hawke took their leave.

"Thanks for the advice, Merrill," Hawke said warmly as they stood next to the Vhenadahl.

"Oh, you're welcome. Not that you took it. Um, my advice. About the top, I mean."

"Well, the second top was_ sort_ of pink," Hawke whispered to her, "just a very, very _dark_ pink. But don't tell Fenris that. And you found the perfect brooch."

Merrill jumped on the spot and grinned, delighted that she'd been helpful, and wrapped her arms around Hawke, who returned her hug. "It's nice to see you two back together, Hawke. Well, sort of. But at least you're talking; that's what's important. Just keep talking, and you'll get there in the end."

Hawke pulled back and kissed her on the cheek. "I'll come and see you before we enter the Deep Roads," he promised, and joined Fenris, who stood at the foot of the steps.

"You'd better!" she called after him. "Glad you liked the brooch, Fenris!"

Fenris nodded and forced an awkward smile. If she'd been standing closer, he might have thanked her again, but he wasn't about to shout it across the Alienage.

As they left, Hawke noticed that Fenris was still hanging onto his parcel like grim death. "You liked that navy tunic, didn't you? I could tell. I think it'll really suit you. If you like, we could stop by at home and you could change into it."

"That will not be necessary, but thank you," Fenris replied, his eyes fixed ahead.

"Sorry. I'm being a pain in the arse, aren't I?"

Fenris stopped and frowned at the ground. "It's not that…I…just don't understand what I've done to merit this."

"Well, nothing, really, but it's a belated naming day gift. I can understand it being a bit strange for you, not having celebrated it before." A sly glint came into Hawke's eyes, and he lowered his voice. "I'll let you into a secret. Do you remember when my naming day is?"

"I do. 13 Drakonis; next month."

"Well, then."

Fenris's frown deepened, and he looked up at Hawke. "Are you…after a gift for your own naming day?"

"That's how it works," said Hawke through a laugh. "We only buy gifts because we want one in return."

"That is not commensurate with what I know of you so far. Your attempt to extinguish the candle _is _commensurate, however."

"'Extinguish the candle'? Is that the same as pulling the wool over one's eyes?"

"Perhaps. I prefer 'extinguish the candle'," answered the elf, walking ahead with Hawke's laughter following him.

To Hawke's utter delight, their conversation as they headed for Hightown was notably less stilted than it had been of late, although there was absolutely no flirting or physical contact, and Fenris retained his _neutral _expression throughout. Still, Hawke's heart soared at every dry remark the elf made, and his heart thumped as they stood at the top of Hightown's steps, although that was probably because Hawke was out of breath. At the sight of the food stalls at the top of the steps, Hawke sniffed the air and began salivating.

"Would you tell Mother if I had some pork ribs for lunch?"

"Yes."

"What if I bought _you _some?"

Fenris folded his arms and shook his head sternly.

With a loud tut, Hawke walked across the town square to where he could see Varric and Bartrand bickering over something. "Varric will show some sympathy for my plight," he said, just loudly enough for Fenris to hear, before he stopped and allowed the elf to catch up. "Um…you haven't met Bartrand yet, have you?"

"No. You once told me that he is nothing like Varric."

"He's a bit…abrasive, just to warn you."

"I understand. I have dealt with his kind before."

_I'm sure you have_, Hawke thought as he walked alongside the elf. When Varric spotted them, he did a double take at Fenris, and a bland smile settled over his face, secretly tickled to see the two of them together.

"Ah! Here they are. Bartrand, allow me to introduce you to Br…uh, Fenris."

"So, Twinkletoes is back, huh?" Bartrand backed away from Hawke and eyed Fenris with disdain, then turned away to bark a quick order at one of his men before turning back. "An elf with a sword?" he scoffed. "You certain you can hold that thing, Tubby?"

Fenris removed his sword from his back, his expression frosty as he approached Bartrand, wielding the giant blade with _one _hand. "As you can see, Dwarf, I am quite certain I can _hold _it. Perhaps a demonstration would be in order? You are just the right height."

"The right height for what?" Bartrand asked, his voice hesitant.

"Why, for cleaving your head from your shoulders, of course," said the elf calmly, having no qualms about intimidating anyone who had been _abrasive _with Hawke, or had called him _Twinkletoes_, for that matter.

"Uh, that won't be necessary," Bartrand insisted, holding his palms up. "Now, what do _you_ want?" he snapped at Hawke.

"Forgive me," Fenris interrupted, passing his parcel to Hawke and taking a further step closer to Bartrand. "I will not have my sword skills called into question. To set your mind at ease, I must demonstrate."

"No, wait…what do-" Before Bartrand completed his sentence, a _whoosh _was heard, and steel glinted in the sun as it arced above the dwarf's head. Bartrand stumbled back, his hands on his neck, making sure his head was still attached to it. Fenris calmly bent down and picked something off the ground. Taking one of Bartrand's hands, he dropped a few strands of neatly-sliced hair onto his furry palm.

"I believe these belong to you." He sheathed his sword and turned toward Varric and Hawke, who had their backs to him. A strange screeching noise was emanating from one of them, but he couldn't tell from whom.

When they eventually turned to face him, Varric's face was calm, if rather pink; Hawke, however, could barely speak and looked about to burst into tears, or laughter.

"I will leave you to discuss business," the elf announced, "while I call on Guard-Captain Vallen. I will await you at the barracks."

"Sure, Elf," Varric replied, shaking his hand. As Fenris departed, he nodded at Hawke, who could only tremble in reply.

"Will-will _he _be going on the expedition?" Bartrand shouted, but only once the elf was out of earshot.

"You betcha," Varric answered, as Hawke was still unable to form cogent sentences. "Impressive, isn't he? Now, let's do what the elf said and discuss business."

~o~O~o~

Fenris's own business with Aveline was concluded quickly, and he waited around at the barracks, where he chatted with the guards who were coming off duty or were just starting their shift. He had a long wait, as there were many final preparations for the expedition investors to make, as well as many squabbles to sort out, most of them of Bartrand's making. During a quiet moment, Fenris sat on a small bench near Aveline's office, reflecting on his so-far brief stint in the Kirkwall Guard.

He felt at home, here. He liked being a guard, and was eager for the expedition to be over so he could resume his duties. He had Donnic and Hawke to thank for his new-found sense of purpose and usefulness; yet another thing Hawke had done for him, _given _him.

What had he done for Hawke in return?

He knew Hawke didn't think that way, but several times during the morning he'd wanted to _do _something for Hawke, but, yet again, he'd failed to arrive at an answer, a solution. When Hawke had gifted Fenris with clothing, he hadn't known how to feel as he'd never before received a naming day gift, but he'd immediately resolved to find a gift for Hawke's own naming day. He would have to do it soon, as it was unlikely they'd be out of the Deep Roads before 13 Drakonis.

He knew in his heart, though, what Hawke really wanted from him, but when Fenris turned his thoughts to rekindling their romance, he felt numb and weary; he was neither ready nor willing to deal with that, yet, but he also knew that he couldn't string Hawke along. If he no longer felt able to continue with their relationship as it had been, he knew he had to tell Hawke.

The problem was, he _did _want to continue; more than anything. There were more reasons to do that than Fenris could count.

There was still one reason not to. But Fenris knew _he _was the only one allowing that reason to eclipse all others.

~o~O~o~

When Hawke and Varric finally arrived at the barracks, they took Fenris by surprise, as he'd been sitting, daydreaming, outside Aveline's office. After apologising for making him jump, and for keeping him waiting, Hawke stepped back, his mouth agape, as Fenris stood up, looking unusually pleased with himself.

"Your cuirass! They finished it?" Hawke exclaimed as Fenris raised his arms from his sides, allowing Hawke and Varric a better look.

"That's nice, Elf; real nice," Varric complimented. "You can tell a lot of work's gone into that."

"I am pleased to see _someone _appreciates good craftsmanship," Fenris said with a sly glance at Hawke, who grinned back.

"It looks really graceful, Fenris; not heavy or clunky at all," opined the mage.

Fenris nodded with satisfaction. "Guard-Captain Vallen said that I could break it in while in the Deep Roads…although any dints sustained will have to be hammered out at my own expense."

"That sounds like our Aveline!" laughed Hawke.

Varric glanced toward Aveline's office and quirked an eyebrow. "Sounds like she's in a good mood, Hawke. Why don't you two run along and let me take care of this?"

"Are you sure, Varric?"

"Sure I'm sure. Besides, you're still under doctor's orders. You'd better get home to your mashed potatoes."

"This is a bloody conspiracy," moaned Hawke. "You're both determined for my stomach to die of boredom, aren't you?"

"Up to you, Hawke; either you get chewed out by Carrot-Features, or you go home and chew on something soft. And, let's face it, you just don't have the charm it takes to do the former; unlike yours truly," he smiled.

"I've never been so happy to be insulted," replied Hawke. "Fenris? Would you like to go back now?"

"What…did you just refer to Guard-Captain Vallen as?" Fenris asked Varric.

"Hey, who said anything about Guard-Captain Vallen? I was talking about _Aveline_. See you guys later at the Hanged Man?"

"He is not allowed to drink alcohol for the time being," Fenris piped up. "I clearly recall his mother saying so earlier." Noticing Hawke folding his arms from the corner of his eye, he grinned. "I believe I have outstayed my welcome."

With a nod to Varric, Fenris ascended the stairs to the main Keep, while Hawke lurked for a minute. "We _will _see you later," he murmured to the dwarf. "Any chance of slipping a little something into my ginger ale?"

"I heard that," said a stern voice from the top of the stairs.

"Bugger!"

"He's an elf, Hawke; bigger ears."

Shaking his head, Hawke trudged up the stairs, hearing Varric's rap against the office door. He made his best effort to ignore Fenris on the way out of the Keep, but a rush of laughter betrayed him before they reached the doors.

~o~O~o~

When they arrived back at Gamlen's house, no one was home. "They're probably out shopping," Hawke said, heading straight for the kitchen, followed by the elf. "Here to assist, or to keep an eye on me?" he asked Fenris, who shrugged his shoulders and filled the kettle.

After going through several items of food in the kitchen, Fenris finally approved vegetable soup and bread, which, after some moaning from Hawke, was warmed up and served on the dining table.

"You going to try on your new clothes?" Hawke asked Fenris as they ate. "You can go in my room, if you like. I promise not to peek."

"Perhaps later," smiled the elf, reaching for the parcel and turning it over in his hands. "Thank you for this. My first ever naming day present."

"You can thank me by wearing them. I know you definitely like the navy one."

"I like both of them," the elf answered immediately. "But…I am unaccustomed to wearing colours in public."

"Hm. Maybe I shouldn't have gone for red," Hawke mused. "You're not a man who seeks attention. Sorry, Fenris; my bad. Maybe_ I_ could wear it; what do you think? May I borrow it?"

"I think it optimistic to believe you would fit into an elf-sized tunic, even with your recent weight loss," Fenris remarked amusedly.

"I'll have a go at anything; you know me," Hawke challenged.

"You would tear it." Fenris smiled at the parcel and stood up. "May I use your room?"

"By all means. Need any assistance with the cuirass?"

Ignoring Hawke's cheeky question, Fenris shook his head and entered the bedroom with the parcel, emerging a short time later wearing the maroon tunic, and looking decidedly self-conscious. "What do you think?" he asked Hawke, who rose from the table, a soft light in his eyes.

"You look…" He cleared his throat and sighed. "It does look very striking. Colours suit you, Fenris. Red really…makes your eyes look bright." He cleared his throat again and started to clear the dishes away.

"Please, let me assist," offered the elf.

"Thank you. You don't _have_ to wear that, you know. If you feel awkward in it, I'd rather you didn't. I won't be offended at all."

"I…do like it. I will wear it indoors…for now, until I become used to it."

A brief smile was exchanged, and they washed up the dishes amid a comfortable silence. Taking a fresh pot of tea through to the living room, they sat at the table again, and Fenris noticed that Hawke looked uncomfortable in his seat.

"Is all well, Hawke?"

Hawke stood up and covered his mouth with his hand, appearing to be deep in thought. "Just a minute," he mumbled before disappearing into the bedroom.

He re-emerged carrying two very old, dog-eared books, and looking very bashful indeed. Intrigued, Fenris watched him until he sat back down in the chair opposite.

"I, um, my dad gave me these books when I was little," he began, pushing them across the table toward the elf. "I thought you might find them useful; they're no good to me, now."

Fenris opened one of the books and smiled a little at an illustration of duck. "You would lend me these?"

"No…I want you to have them."

"I-I cannot keep them, Hawke; if your father gave them to you…"

"I have plenty more. What good are children's books to me, anyway? You'd get more out of them than I would."

Fenris stared at the books and considered Hawke's offer for a few minutes. "No. I will not keep them. The books are no use to me without a teacher, anyway."

"Well, I just thought that if you wanted to find another teacher, then you could use them," Hawke babbled.

"I do not want another teacher," the elf said quietly. "I _would_ appreciate a reading lesson, though, Hawke; I have mi…I have not had one for a while. If…you would be willing?"

"Oh." Hawke blinked and bit his lip to stop an idiotic grin. "Well, would you like one now?"

"Yes, I would like that."

"Um, well, I'd have to sit next to you. Would that be all right?"

Without a word, Fenris stood and moved to the chair to his right, leaving the other chair pulled out.

His grin breaking through, Hawke got up and sat down next to Fenris. "Which book would you like to start with?" he asked as he poured the tea.

"Which would you recommend?"

"Um…I think you'd like the farmyard animal one, but it's up to you."

"Farmyard animals it is, then."

Passing Fenris his tea, Hawke opened the book and the reading lesson began.


	47. Chapter 47

_Thank you so much, Mary, for your always-invaluable advice and suggestions!_

~o~O~o~

"H-O-R-S-E."

"And what does that spell?"

"Well, I can see what it is, Hawke; there is a drawing of a horse above it."

Fletcher rested his chin on his hand and sighed around a smile. "Well, it _is _a small children's book. I think it's assumed the reader might not know what a horse is. Pretend you've never seen a horse before and you don't know how the word's pronounced. How would _you_ pronounce it?"

Fenris read the word again and frowned. "Horz. You did say that the letter 'S' can also sound like the letter 'Z', especially if followed by an 'E'. Why _is_ there an 'E' at the end of the word? Should it not be spelled with a double 'S' if it's pronounced in such a way?"

"I have no idea," Fletcher laughed, thinking what a great reading teacher Fenris would make, once he could actually read. "I didn't invent the language. It's fortunate you _do _know how 'horse' is pronounced; I'd have a hard time explaining to someone as intelligent as you why they stuck an 'E' on the end of it."

"Fortunate indeed," agreed Fenris, and, recognising the compliment, he permitted himself a small smile.

"So…what sound does a horse make?"

"Why?" Fenris asked suspiciously.

"Just tell me."

"Well, they…neigh, do they not?"

Fletcher's expression was solemn, but, as usual, the impish glint in his eyes gave him away. "Make the sound."

"Make the sound? What does that have to do with learning to read?"

"It's very important," claimed Fletcher, failing to translate his serious demeanour to his voice. "You'll associate the sound with the word; you-"

"I already _know _what a horse _looks _like. I _know _what sound a horse makes. That will suffice." Fenris folded his arms and stared at Fletcher until he sniggered.

"Just a little whinny?"

"_No_."

"A nicker?"

Fenris turned away, shaking his head, and Fletcher heard a quiet snort. "That's the spirit! Horses do that, too." Fletcher knew Fenris was smiling, and wished more than anything that the elf would turn back to him so he could see it. He was delighted, though, that he'd made him smile at all, and decided not to push his luck. He rose from the table and took his and Fenris's empty mugs.

"It's past noon, Fenris; what say we crack open some wine? I'll have half and half with water. It's been a good lesson, and I think we should treat ourselves."

"It _has_ been a good lesson, save the _animal noises_," murmured the elf, facing Fletcher, a remnant of a smile lingering. "Very well; I will permit a _small_ amount of wine," he decreed, one edge of his mouth twitching slightly.

"Yes, ser!" Fletcher bowed and walked over to the kitchen door, hearing a quiet chuckle from Fenris. A warm glow caressed his insides, and he paused at the door, facing the elf. "I've…missed this, you know."

Fenris's face fell a little, and he clasped his hands together on the table, his expression pensive. For a moment, he looked about to speak, but instead he nodded. Fletcher nodded back and, suppressing a sigh, entered the kitchen.

Immediately ashamed at his cowardice, Fenris pushed to his feet and stared at the kitchen door. Why did he keep _doing_ this? He'd raised Fletcher's hopes by asking for a reading lesson, and now he'd dashed them by failing to requite Hawke's – innocent, it had to be said – sentiments. But he couldn't acknowledge them because hedidn't _know_ how he felt. Did he?

What would be wrong with saying he'd missed the reading lessons, though? He _had _missed them; why was he afraid of giving Fletcher a little happiness by admitting that?

He moved toward the kitchen door and then paused, his hand resting on the jamb. Something Bethany had told him – and something he'd tried very hard not to think about – invaded his mind, and nausea and heat suffused him. Hawke – Fletcher - would _die_ by his own hand before his fiftieth birthday, and there was nothing to be done about it. If he was born in 9:04, then he would turn twenty-seven next month. 9:54 seemed so far away, but the three-and-a-half years that Fenris could remember had passed in the blink of an eye.

He'd known Fletcher for three months of that. And, despite the ups and downs, it had been the happiest, and most fulfilling, three months of his life.

Time was wasting.

The heat inside Fenris intensified, and his stomach burned, his chest throbbed. He coughed to clear the thickness in his throat and pushed the door open, finding Fletcher leaning against the counter, head in hands.

"I-I'm just getting the wine," Fletcher blurted out, quickly pushing himself off the counter and turning his back on the elf, while he sought out a couple of wine glasses.

"I apologise," Fenris said in a stiff, strained voice. "I apologise unreservedly."

"Eh? What for?" Fletcher asked with forced nonchalance as he began to rinse the glasses.

"You are _trying_. I…am not. This-this has been a difficult time for us both. I…I have also missed the reading lessons. I have missed…you. Your company." Fenris felt the first flutters of mild panic in his belly as his self-control wavered, but he forced the words out: he spoke the truth, and Fletcher deserved to hear it.

Fletcher straightened up and nodded, still with his back to the elf. A minute of silence passed, before Fenris took a step nearer and cleared his throat. "I know what you would have of me. I, too…" He sighed and moved to the counter, where he halted. "I am…uncertain, and need some time. I do not want to give you false hope. You are…you are a good man, and I will not hurt you if I can possibly prevent it."

Fletcher hung his head, and Fenris heard his sharp intake of breath. Slowly, the mage turned around, releasing his breath, and leaned back on the counter. "I know that, Fen. And Maker knows I don't want to hurt _you_ any more than I already have."

Fenris moved closer and rested against the counter that was set at a right-angle to Fletcher, only a few feet separating them. "What should we do?"

Fletcher smiled thinly. "Maybe we shouldn't do_ anything_. I think, maybe when we're both feeling more…settled, we'll need to talk about things. But for now, let's not put any pressure on ourselves. Why don't we just…enjoy each other's company? As friends. Keep it nice and simple."

"Is that what you really want?" Fenris asked.

Fletcher's shrug answered Fenris's question, but he went on, "Maybe it's what we both need? No expectations, no pressure. I'm just glad we're talking again, and that we're spending time together. I wouldn't have blamed you for walking away, but you didn't, and that means a lot to me, Fenris. A _lot_."

After a pause, Fenris uttered softly, "Had it been anyone else, I would have."

Their eyes met briefly, and then moved to the floor. "What do you think, Fen?" asked Fletcher. "You know how I feel, but…let's just see what happens. And if nothing happens, that's fine. I'd be honoured to have you as a friend. I'm not trying to put any pressure on you; not at all. What I'm saying is that _you're_ in _control_ of this. We'll talk when_ you're_ ready. And if you decide that you don't want to…proceed, then I hope we'll always be good friends."

Fletcher walked to the far side of the kitchen where he retrieved a bottle of wine, watched by Fenris the entire time. "You do understand me," said the elf quietly as Fletcher returned. "And, now that I have seen past myself, I believe I understand you a little better, as well."

"I'm a very simple man, Fenris," Fletcher half-joked as he opened the wine and began to pour it. "There's very little about me _to _understand."

Not for the first time, Fenris was struck by how self-deprecating a man Fletcher was; a far cry from the bloated, self-important Magisters of his former home. "You do yourself a disservice," Fenris said softly.

With a tentative smile, Fletcher passed Fenris his glass, and gestured at the door. Fenris shook his head and stood his ground.

"…The water?"

Fletcher glared at his glass, tutted and poured half of the contents back into the bottle. "Shit. I thought you'd forgotten about that."

"Not a chance," was the elf's concise reply as Fletcher topped up his glass with water.

"Here, then, _Master of the Wine_." Fletcher shoved the bottle into Fenris's other hand and flounced into the living room, his nose high in the air.

As he moved to the table, Fletcher's head snapped up and his breath rushed out as he realised: he'd just referred to Fenris as _Master_. Panicking that his joke had caused Fenris offence or distress, he raced back to the door, his heart battering against his breastbone. "What's the _matter_ with you?" he castigated himself.

The long, loud burst of laughter from the kitchen stopped Fletcher in his tracks, and he almost collapsed against the door in relief. After a second to catch his breath, his own laughter joined that of the elf's.

~o~O~o~

When Leandra and Bethany returned laden with groceries, the reading lesson had resumed, and the two women exchanged a delighted look, taking a seat on the settee for a quick rest before unpacking. After Fletcher and Fenris had risen to greet them, Fletcher prodded the book on the table with his finger, reminding Fenris that the lesson had not yet ended, and they returned to their seats at the table.

"Now, where were we?"

"I am _not _going to cluck like a hen," Fenris sibilated.

"You just mooed like a cow! What's the difference?"

"I did _not _moo! I _said _the _word _'moo', and that was only to shut _you_ up. I see now my plan was lamentably ill-conceived."

"Go on; just a little chirrup."

"Hens do _not _'chirrup'."

"And how do _you _know so much about hens all of a sudden? Eh?"

Silence. Although the two women couldn't see Fenris's expression from where they sat, they could picture it quite vividly.

"I'll give you fifty sovereigns if you cluck."

"You do not _have _fifty sovereigns!"

"I'll cancel the expedition and get my money back."

An exasperated groan was heard, as was the creak of the settee as the women moved closer to listen.

"You know, Fenris, sometimes I don't think you have the necessary dedication for this. If you want to learn, you need to _apply _yourself," Fletcher joked, bracing himself.

"H-E-N. _Hen_," the elf recited testily. "I can say it, I can _read_ it. I am notgoing to _cluck _for your amusement!"

Two giggles sounded from the settee, and Bethany's head peeked over the back of it. "You might get a cluck of disapproval if you're not careful, Fletcher. Or worse. And I wouldn't blame Fenris one bit."

As she rose, so did Fenris, quickly followed by Fletcher. Fenris moved over to the settee, picking up a few bags of groceries. "I believe this to be an appropriate juncture at which to end the lesson."

Fletcher huffed, his hands on his hips. "Well, you're already Master of the Wine; you may as well be Headmaster of the Lessons, as well! Why not?" he exclaimed dramatically, flinging his arms into the air.

Dipping his head so his hair obscured his face – although Fletcher could swear he caught a glimpse of a grin - Fenris went into the kitchen, holding the door open for Bethany, who carried the remainder of the bags.

Leandra rose and walked over to Fletcher, an excited gleam in her eyes as she glanced at the kitchen door. "You and Fenris seem to be getting along well, dear."

Fletcher also glanced at the door, a faraway look in his eyes. "I hope so, Mother. At least we're squabbling; you need to be talking to someone to squabble with them," he smiled.

"That wasn't squabbling, darling; it was banter: the kind that flows easily between friends. Your father and I had similar exchanges; do you remember?"

"I do," replied Fletcher with a sad smile. "You and Father were best friends. You were very well-suited."

"You have my cheekiness, Fletcher. I was the perfect foil to your father, who was very straightforward and direct. I loved making him laugh. It took some effort, sometimes, but it was worth it each and every time. I see that same dynamic between you and Fenris; you're also very well-suited."

Fletcher grinned and hung his head a little before he sighed and looked up to the ceiling. "Does it bother you that there won't be anyone to carry on the family name now that Carver's…? The Hawke name, I mean?"

Leandra's arms wound around her son's waist. "Fletcher, I used to take so many things for granted. That I would have dozens of grandchildren, that one day I would reclaim the Amell estate and we would all live as nobles, as we were entitled. But we've lost so much, darling; our home, your father, and-and…" Fletcher sighed and pulled Leandra close, and she rested her head on his shoulder. "But we have a roof over our heads," she went on, "and I have two beautiful children who make me prouder with each day that passes." She pulled back and cradled Fletcher's face in her hands. "It has been a while since I saw you so at ease, my dear son. To me, that is worth a thousand grandchildren."

"Oh, Mama, stop it," sniggered Fletcher. "You'll make me tear up." Too late, he pulled her close again and took a few deep breaths. "I know you're grateful for what we have, but I want better for you and Beth. Even for that old…for Uncle Gamlen. When the expedition's over, things will be better. There'll be no more second-hand clothes, no more rats. You'll live as you're supposed to."

"Just bring yourself back in once piece, Fletcher; that's all I want." Leandra's voice wavered slightly and they stood together, quietly, for several minutes.

In the kitchen, Fenris unpacked the heavier of the bags while Bethany put some water on for tea. He politely enquired about their shopping trip, and, when Bethany noticed his new tunic, she complimented him on the colour and he provided details of his and Fletcher's own shopping trip, discreetly leaving certain details out.

"Bethany?" he asked quietly, once the shopping had been packed away, "may I ask your advice?"

"But of course, Fenris." She opened the back door and beckoned him outside. He stepped out and closed the door behind him, smiling wryly at the two chickens that strutted around the small yard.

"Fletcher should have brought you out here for the lesson; he would have had all the clucks he wanted," remarked Bethany. "Is everything all right, Fenris? Things seem to be going well between you and Fletcher; it's lovely to see."

Fenris nodded and remained silent for a moment. "I merely wanted to ask…it has come to my attention that your brother's naming day falls next month."

"Ah," Bethany said, her face brightening.

"I would like to purchase a gift for him before we enter the Deep Roads, but I have no idea what to buy. He has many robes, a sturdy staff…I do not know what would be of use to him."

"First things first, Fenris. Fletcher is _not_ a practical man. Buy him a _useful_ gift and he'll be delighted that you thought of him, but, if it's not something he can wear, or eat, it'll be shoved in a drawer and forgotten about. You're right in saying he has plenty of robes. I know he'd like a fancy staff, but none of us have the coin for that. If you want my advice, Fenris, you can't go wrong with a book."

"I should have known," said the elf. "Is there anything you would recommend?"

Bethany thought about that for a moment. "I'll tell you what he'd really love: a first edition of _Treatises on Medicine and the Hippocratic Aphorisms_." Met with a blank look, she smiled. "It's a very, very dry medical tome, written by forty of the most esteemed physicians of the Steel Age. Their knowledge and methods seem crude and laughable, now, but he loves that sort of thing. It would cost silly money to buy, and I have no doubt he'd sell Mother and I to get his hands on a copy." They both laughed softly, and Bethany folded her arms, thinking. "That's not very helpful to you, though. Tell you what, if you have nothing planned this afternoon, I could take you to a very nice bookshop I know of; it's just on the border of the city, not far from Darktown. It'd take us half an hour or so to walk there, but it's a nice day, and I know we'd find something suitable."

"Oh, I would not want to take up any of your-"

"I don't have anything else planned, Fenris; you wouldn't be taking up my valuable time at all," she smiled, and Fenris followed suit. "Besides, Varric asked me to pick something up for Fletcher's naming day that he can give him in the Deep Roads. We can kill two birds with one stone."

"I am very grateful for your time, Bethany." The elf bowed slightly, and Bethany waved her hand dismissively.

"Don't thank me for spending time with you, Fenris. It's hardly a chore. You're a very erudite and intelligent man, and it would be nice to spend a bit of time with you before you head off, anyway; you're practically a part of the family, now."

Fenris felt a rush through his chest, and tears choked the back of his throat. He noisily cleared it and nodded, his face betraying nothing of what he was feeling inside. Bethany had an inkling, however, but didn't say anything. "That is very gracious of you," said the elf.

"The only problem we have is explaining where we're going to Fletcher. The best thing for us to do is brazen it out; just follow my lead, Fenris." She tapped the side of her nose and winked, and, although he was unfamiliar with the gesture, Fenris tapped the side of his own nose, intrigue lighting up his face as he followed her inside.

"Fenris and I are going for a stroll," she announced loudly as she breezed into the living room. Fenris entered, having assumed an unassuming look.

"Did you forget something, dear?" Leandra asked, still mid-hug with her son.

"No, not really. I just fancied stretching my legs, and Fenris has very kindly agreed to keep me company."

Fletcher knew his sister well, and shot her a _what are you up to _look, but said nothing.

"We'll be back in a couple of hours," said Bethany, reaching for her stole.

"Oh…I need to change, first," Fenris said, and, after asking permission to use Fletcher's room again, he changed back into his Guard tunic, but left the cuirass inside; much to his appreciation, Fletcher locked the door when he'd finished.

Fletcher watched curiously as the conspirators headed for the front door, neither of them looking him in the eye. Thinking of Fenris's new clothes, a thought occurred to him, and he decided against interrogating them.

"Have fun," he called to them. Bethany waved and Fenris bowed in their direction – meant for Leandra – and his eyes very briefly darted over Fletcher's, an undeniable furtiveness in them.

"Where do you think they're off to?" Leandra wondered aloud as the door closed.

"I _suspect_ Fenris is buying me a naming day present," Fletcher beamed, feeling elated, before his expression flattened a little. "Well, I may as well go and see Anders, I suppose."

"Oh, how is he?"

"I guess I'm about to find out." Kissing Leandra goodbye, he stepped outside, waiting until Fenris and Bethany were out of sight before setting off, a strange heaviness settling over him.

It was a chilly day in Kirkwall, though sunny; normally, Fletcher would have enjoyed the walk but thinking of Anders darkened his mood. Fenris had been at the forefront of his mind but, once apart from him, he realised he was still angry at Anders. When Anders had stormed off, Fletcher had been left confused and hurt. He'd already been worried sick about Fenris, and was so tired he could barely think straight. Yes, he knew he'd ignored Anders's advice, and, in his position, Fletcher would have felt the same. Would Fletcher have abandoned _his_ patient, though? Never.

Was he being unreasonable? Sebastian and Donnic had been there, after all, and Anders _was_ entitled to be frustrated at Fletcher. Fletcher recalled Anders's statement that he'd never loved anyone, nor had he been loved, and his stomach plummeted.

Well, now instead of feeling angry, he felt _guilty_.

"Why is nothing straightforward with him anymore?" Fletcher groaned to himself as he approached the jetty, having taken a slightly different route than Fenris and Bethany: he suspected they wouldn't want him tagging along.

"First sign of madness, that, you know."

Startled, Fletcher spun around, fresh irritation pricking at him as his eyes settled on the owner of the voice.

"…Talking to yourself, I mean. Where have you _been_, Hawke? I've been looking all over for you! Anyone would think you're trying to avoid me."

"Funny, that; I thought it was the other way round," grumbled Fletcher, folding his arms. "Come to pay me those two sovereigns you owe me?"

"Actually, I have!" Isabela reached into a small pocket and produced two shiny coins which she dropped into Fletcher's hand.

"Thanks. Nice to see you, Isabela." Fletcher turned around and continued on his way.

"Woah-woah-woah! What's the hurry?" Isabela caught up to him and slipped her arm through his.

Fletcher once again stopped, sighing. "Look. I know what you're after; Varric told me you've been pestering him. We're not taking _any_ women on the expedition. It's nothing personal."

"Oh, _I_ get it!" Isabela winked at him, a very unwholesome glimmer in her eyes. "All those hairy, sweaty brutes down in the deeps…you'll be happier than a pig in shit! I can't say I blame you, but surely you could share a little of that action around? Don't be greedy, now."

A mirthless laugh escaped, and Fletcher shook his head. "Trust me, Isabela, if you met the leader of the expedition, you'd change your tune pretty quickly."

"Does that mean we're going to see him?" she asked optimistically.

"No, we're not. Look, it's not you, honestly; Varric raves about your skill with those daggers of yours, and you'd be a great addition to the crew. We just can't take any women. Bethany's not going, and neither are Merrill or Aveline; not that Aveline would have the time, anyway."

"And why not, Hawke?" she demanded.

"I'd speak to Anders if I were you; he's the one who insisted on no women. It's a Grey Warden-darkspawn thing, apparently."

"I don't think I'll bother. I went to see him yesterday for some cream and he was quite snooty with me. If you ask me, he's got his eye on that assistant of his. Anyway, I was asking _you_."

Hawke stared at her wearily for a moment, and then walked over to a small wall on the quay where he sat down. Isabela joined him, and he recounted what Anders had told him about the Broodmother he and the other wardens had defeated in Amaranthine.

"…Being a healer, Anders has seen some pretty gruesome sights in his time, and has developed a cast-iron stomach. But he told me that he and one of the other wardens vomited as soon as they set eyes on it. He said it was an aberration of nature. I think it was the _smell, _too; he couldn't even describe it to me."

"_Tentacles_?" Isabela exclaimed, pulling a face. "I know _some_ mothers let themselves go a bit after having a baby, but-"

"This is not a joke, Isabela. _That_ is the reason you can't come, and that's _final_. Please don't keep on about it; you'll only irritate me, and I still won't change my mind."

Isabela leaned back a little and sighed. "All right, Hawke, I'll be straight with you. The truth is: I need to disappear for a bit. I've, well…"

"Don't tell me. Some people are after you?"

"Something like that. Look, how many men are you taking on this expedition? There must be loads of you. I promise I won't wander off on my own, and if I see any of those mean darkspawn thingies, I'll scream, all right?"

"Isabela, the answer is _no_. I'm_ sorry_. As annoying as you are, I wouldn't wish that fate on you. It's too much of a risk."

"But I'll-"

"_No_."

With a casual shrug of her shoulders, Isabela stood up. "Oh, well. You've got to give me credit for trying, haven't you?"

"What's this trouble you're in?" Hawke asked, also standing up. "Is there anything I can do to help before we set off?"

"It's nice of you to offer, but you know me, Hawke; I always have something up my sleeve. I'll be fine; I always am." With a wink and a jaunty wiggle of her hips, she sauntered off, leaving Fletcher with doubt nibbling at his thoughts, though he couldn't quite understand why. Shaking his head and dismissing Isabela from his mind for the time being, he continued down the jetty steps toward one of the entrances to Darktown, the heaviness in his bones returning.

Fletcher knew there was an entrance leading from the Amell estate to Darktown, as he, Bethany, Anders and Varric had cleared out the slavers beneath the estate several months ago; before he'd met Fenris, in fact. He'd even procured a set of keys to the estate, and it would have been easy for him to slip into the mansion and enter through the tunnel, but his mother was still awaiting a reply from the Viscount's office regarding their claim on the estate, and he wanted to do things properly. If the Guard caught him sneaking into the property, he'd not only hamper his mother's efforts, but would place Fenris and Donnic in a difficult position, and he wasn't about to do that.

For now, he'd have to take the long way through Darktown, which he never relished, as the conditions under which some of the refugees were living were shocking. His resolve to help make life easier for the indigent people, with Anders's help, had not wavered. He just hoped that he and Anders would be able to keep from each other's throats long enough to do that.

Upon reaching the clinic, he found Anders and Mallory hard at work crafting poultices. Anders was instructing her on the correct ratio of herbs used in the mixture for the antiseptic coating. Mallory greeted Hawke when he entered, but Anders didn't look up until he'd finished.

"Anders, you put me to shame. I haven't even started on my batch, yet," Hawke said in an even tone. He was unsure of how he felt, and didn't want a scene in front of Mallory. More than that, he was painfully aware that soon, he, Fenris and Anders would all be confined underground where there would be no escape from each other, and Fletcher didn't want to be the one to cause ructions.

"I expect you've had your hands full, Hawke, what with Fenris-" Anders stopped himself and glanced at Mallory, who smiled at Hawke and excused herself. "Guardsman Hendyr told me you'd found him. How is he?" Hawke could tell from Anders's tone that he wasn't really interested, but he played along.

"He's getting there. It wasn't easy for him to find out about…you know. He's doing his best."

Anders nodded, looking thoughtful. "And how about you, Hawke?"

"Well, I'm still following your diet. I've been trying my best to get out of it, but Mother and Fenris are having none of it."

"Good." Anders began to tidy up his worktop, and Hawke glanced over to Mallory, who was arranging boxes at the far end of the clinic.

"Anders…are _you_ all right?"

Anders looked up, uncertainty in his eyes. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"It was just something you said…"

"Oh, ignore that." Anders resumed his task, and something in his voice told Hawke not to press him on the matter, which did nothing to ease Hawke's discomfort. "How are the plans for the expedition coming along?"

"Oh…well, most of the equipment and supplies have been moved to the site; there are just last-minute things, now. I'm going up there tomorrow to set up the oxygen generators. Fancy lending a hand? If you're not too busy?"

Anders considered the invitation, and also considered asking if Fenris would be going along, but didn't want to antagonise Hawke. "I'd like that; I know how it works but I'd be interested to see how you've made a portable one."

"Not one, Anders; lots of little ones. Oh, by the way, we'll be at the Hanged Man tonight, if you're interested; it might be our last chance for a card game in a relatively well-lit place. I can't vouch for the air quality, though. Bring Mallory, if she wants to come."

"Lots of little ones? Now I am intrigued." Anders smiled wanly and nodded. "I'll see about the Hanged Man; there's a stomach bug doing the rounds down here at the moment, and it depends if there are any new cases."

"Need any help?"

"I'll certainly send for you if things get out of hand, but I think it's contained for now. Actually…I was going to ask…if it spreads, I'm not going to leave Mallory on her own to deal with it."

"If that happens, Anders, then the expedition will be postponed until it _is _contained. We're not going without you, Warden or not."

"Well, thanks, Hawke…I really appreciate that," Anders replied quietly around an uneasy smile.

"If I don't see you tonight, I'll call for you tomorrow? Around midday?" asked Hawke.

"Yes, all right."

"See you when I see you, then, Anders. Bye, Mallory!" he shouted, and Mallory looked up and waved.

"See you, Hawke, and thanks for calling on me."

With a nod, Fletcher left the clinic, feeling a huge weight lift from his shoulders. He did wonder momentarily when his and Anders's next spat would be, but decided not to dwell on that thought as he headed for home.

*_Treatises on Medicine and the Hippocratic Aphorisms_ is a real book, believed to have been compiled in 1145 in Hereford, England. It was written by 40 of the most noted physicians of the time.


	48. Chapter 48

_Thank you to Mary for her beta and to Carrie for her insults :-)_

~o~O~o~

When Anders hadn't shown up for the card game at the Hanged Man the night before, Fletcher decided an early start was called for the following day, concerned that the stomach bug doing the rounds in Darktown had worsened. The game hadn't gone on for very long, anyway; Donnic had been on duty and the other participants – Hawke, Fenris, Varric and Sebastian – all had preparations to make before setting out for the Deep Roads.

Upon leaving the pub, and after a visit to a herbalist in Lowtown, Fletcher and Fenris had returned home, where Fletcher had begun crafting some of the stock of potions needed for the expedition. Fletcher and Anders had compiled a list of essential items several weeks earlier, and each mage had steadily worked on his own share. Most of the stock had been moved to the expedition site outside Kirkwall, but some had to be prepared at the last minute as they were made with fresh, organic ingredients. Fletcher - with assistance from Bethany and Fenris – had crafted the required number of potions and unguents plus several more, and had then started on an extra batch of lyrium potions for him and Anders. Only when Fenris had insisted he get some sleep had he stopped.

After breakfast – during which Fletcher resisted the temptation to ask what Bethany had hidden in her room when she and Fenris had returned from their stroll – Fletcher and Fenris left for Darktown to call on Anders, each carrying a sack of various dressings and potions.

"Will you need me to visit the site with you?" Fenris asked once they were underway.

"Well, you don't _have_ to come, but I'd like you to," answered Fletcher. "Why? Is there something else you have to do?"

"No."

They walked on for a while, and Fletcher occasionally glanced at Fenris, as usual gleaning no information from the elf's inscrutable expression. "Everything all right, Fen?" he asked casually.

"Yes, of course." Fenris slowed down and turned toward Fletcher, his eyes narrowing ever-so slightly. "Is…everything well with you?"

Fletcher halted completely, and saw a flicker of uncertainty in Fenris's eyes as he, too, came to a stop. "What's the matter?" asked Fletcher.

"What do you mean?"

"Come on, I know you well enough by now," Fletcher said quietly. "Is it because we're going to see Anders?"

"I do not _fear_ Anders," was Fenris's immediate, slightly defensive reply.

Fletcher placed his sack on the ground and sighed. "I know that. But there's something wrong, I can tell. It might make you feel better if you talk about it."

A soft exhalation was heard, and Fenris stared ahead for a moment before shaking his head and walking on. "Pay me no heed. It is foolishness, and nothing more. I will deal with it."

"Wait." Fletcher caught up and clasped Fenris's arm, stopping him. "It's not foolishness if it's making you unhappy. Please tell me. Is it the expedition? Is there something about it you're not looking forward to?"

Fenris's nostrils flared, and Fletcher noticed the elf's free hand clenching at his side. It took several minutes for Fenris to answer, and when he did, his voice was hushed. "I would not want to cause any…problems once we are in the Deep Roads."

"And why would you do that?"

Irritation flashed across Fenris's face, and he shook his head. "Do you not remember what happened at the barracks? When I _assaulted _my fellow guards? When I was too much of a _coward_ to face them? To face anyone?"

"That wasn't your fault. That-"

"What if it happens again? What if I…if I were to…" Fenris released a shaky breath. "It has been on my mind while I have been boarding at your house. If I were to frighten your mother or sister…if-if I were to lash out at you…"

"I warned Mother and Beth that sometimes your sleep is disturbed, and, if anything happens, they're not to wake you, but to call me. We'll explain that to everyone going on the expedition, as well."

"But would they not think-"

"I couldn't care less what they think," Fletcher replied firmly.

"Nor do I, but I am thinking of you," said Fenris. "You are one of the leaders of the expedition; the workers will look up to you. Their perception of you is of utmost importance. I would not cause you discomfiture…"

"Just stop right there," Fletcher interrupted, taking a moment to quell his anger, which was not directed at Fenris, but rather at the damage Danarius had wrought upon his self-esteem. "Firstly, I don't consider myself to be a _leader_. Bartrand is in charge of the expedition. True, I've put him straight a few times, because frankly, some of his ideas have been idiotic, but _he's _in charge.

"Secondly, you won't be alone. Anders is a Grey Warden, and he warned me that once he's underground and can sense darkspawn, he might have a few nightmares of his own.

"Thirdly, if I considered you the slightest bit dangerous, do you really think I'd have invited you into my home, to stay under the same roof as Beth and Mother?"

Fenris looked to the side and sighed.

Fletcher took a step closer to Fenris. "Beneath the wounds that bastard inflicted upon you is one of the gentlest, most humble and unassuming people I've ever met. The fact you feel such guilt and conflict over your actions – which were involuntary, I'll remind you – is an indication of how good - how decent - a man you are." Fletcher moved his hand to Fenris's chin and gently pushed his head up, but Fenris's gaze fell to the ground. "I see the real you, and so do Donnic, Sebastian and all of your friends in the Guard, as well as Mother and Beth. They're the only ones that count, Fenris."

Noticing Fenris's frown, Fletcher paused momentarily before continuing. "You know, I learned a long time ago to care only what my friends and family think, and to the Void with everyone else. Those people – the ones who know you and care about you – are the ones that count, and they _accept_ you. Mother and Beth think the world of you, as do Donnic and Sebastian. As do I. I couldn't imagine Donnic fussing over you as Mother does, though. It might put a dent in his reputation as a burly guard, mightn't it?"

Fenris laughed briefly but didn't smile, and he once again hung his head, only for Fletcher to nudge it back up with his hand.

"I'm going to do something now that will probably embarrass you, but I make no apologies for it," Fletcher said, and, not giving himself time to think, he leaned down and placed a quick peck on the elf's cheek, before drawing back and releasing his chin. Fenris's mouth gaped open, but, to Fletcher's immense relief, he gave no indications of being disturbed or displeased by the gesture.

"I'm proud to be seen with you, and these people," Fletcher waved his hand toward several passers-by, some of whom quickly averted their gaze, "can think what the hell they like. I don't know them, I don't care about them, and they mean nothing to me. Very few of the people going on the expedition mean anything to me. Those that _do_ won't say anything should you have a nightmare. If they do – and I can't imagine they would – they'll get short shrift from _me_, I can tell you. Now, shall we get going?"

Fletcher picked up his sack and, slinging it over his shoulder, began to walk ahead. He looked back and waited for Fenris to arrive next to him. Both men were quiet on the way to Darktown, but this time, when Fletcher glanced at the elf, the faint smile he wore said more than words ever could.

~o~O~o~

When they reached the clinic, Anders was hard at work cataloguing and sorting through his own creations. Mallory was nowhere to be seen.

"How are things, Anders? Any new cases?" Fletcher asked as they approached, with Fenris falling a short distance behind.

"Hm? No, no new ones," Anders mumbled absently as he placed a few poultices into a bag.

"Well, that's good," replied Fletcher. "Sorry we didn't see you at the Hanged Man last night."

"Oh, I forgot about that." Anders looked up, glanced at Fenris without acknowledging him and then proceeded to place items in the rest of the bags. Fenris moved to stand at Fletcher's side, and they exchanged a fleeting glance while they waited. When Anders had finished, he tied the bags up and walked to the entrance of the clinic. "Wait here; Mallory said she'll give me a hand." He then exited, leaving Fenris and Fletcher alone.

"Well, he's certainly organised, isn't he?" Fletcher asked breezily, hiding the vague sense of unease he felt in the pit of his stomach.

"So it would seem." The distaste in Fenris's voice was obvious, and his expression had once again returned to inscrutable.

"Hey, at least Mallory's coming with us. If Anders is in a snit about something, _she_ can talk to him, and we won't have to."

"That is true," answered Fenris with a small smile.

After waiting for a few minutes, Anders returned with Mallory and walked over to the bags.

"Hello, Hawke," she greeted, and shook Fletcher's hand.

"Hello, Mallory. Are you settling in well? You seem very at home here."

"Yes, I'm really enjoying myself," she answered brightly. "I've become acquainted with most of the people down here and Anders has been great; I've learned a lot from him."

"I know the clinic will be in good hands while I'm gone," Anders piped up, smiling warmly at the small woman.

Fletcher managed to smile, as well, determined not to let Anders's standoffishness bother him. "You haven't met Fenris, have you?" he asked her, and Fenris stepped forward, doffing a polite nod.

"Oh, it's nice to meet you, Fenris," she answered pleasantly. "Are you a friend of Anders and Hawke, then?"

"I will be accompanying them on the expedition."

"I'm sure they're very glad of that," she answered with a glance at his sword, before Anders interrupted.

"Let's get a move on, then," he said briskly, gathering up the large bags. He passed one each to Mallory, Fletcher and Fenris, and he took two. "Is that all you could manage to craft, Hawke? Two bags?" he asked airily.

Fletcher, annoyed that Anders hadn't acknowledged Fenris at all, answered, "As you _know_, Anders, we were making the lyrium potions. They take a lot longer than poultices, plus, they're heavier."

"All right, Hawke; can't you take a joke?" laughed Anders as he walked past them toward the exit.

"I can, Anders, when it's a funny one." Irritation found its way into his voice, and a small hand touched his arm. Fletcher looked at Fenris, who shook his head.

"Oh dear, someone got out of bed the wrong side this morning," said Anders from up ahead, and Mallory laughed nervously, looking uncomfortable, before she walked ahead to catch up with him.

"As you said, Hawke, the woman can talk to him now," Fenris offered.

"Yes, lucky for me I get _you_ to keep me company," Fletcher grinned with a wink at the elf, not quite succeeding in hiding his annoyance, and as they left the clinic together, Fenris firmly suppressed his own vexation at the abomination.

~o~O~o~

After roughly an hour's walk out of town, they reached the site of the entrance to the Deep Roads that Bartrand had deemed most suitable for their purposes.

"_This_ one?" Anders wondered aloud, pulling a face. "This would have been the last one I'd have chosen."

"Oh? Why's that?" Fletcher asked, concerned.

"Well, it's the nearest one to town, and it goes down deeper than any of the others. After a certain depth, the map ends. If there's anything nasty down there, it could very well be unleashed upon the population of Kirkwall. Not a very smart man, this Bartrand, is he?"

"I won't argue with you there," muttered Fletcher. "All he can see are sovereigns. If we and Varric weren't involved in this expedition, he and all of his workers would have died after a day or two, either from lack of oxygen or from smoke inhalation. And I wouldn't put it past him to stick a knife in the back of anyone who found any of these fabulous riches he's promised us."

"We must keep our wits about us, then," Fenris said darkly.

As they neared the first of the caves, Bartrand's voice could be heard from below the ground. Several workers milled about, running to and fro, and Fletcher, having already met most of them, introduced them to Anders and Fenris.

"Hawke! There y'are!" shouted a deep, gruff voice. They turned in its direction and Fletcher grinned and waved at a very stocky, black-haired dwarf with ruddy cheeks and a beard like a rhododendron bush. After leaving their sacks with the appropriate worker, they walked over to the dwarf, and Fletcher shook his hand.

"Everyone, this is Torbal of House Barakar, possibly the most intelligent man I've ever met. Well, almost," he added with a wink at Fenris, who rolled his eyes. "Torbal and I have been working on the oxygen generators."

"_Another_ sodding mage?" laughed Torbal with a glance at Anders. "Ancestors help us all. And what's this? An elf? You keep eclectic company, Hawke."

"This is Fenris, Anders, and his friend, Mallory," Fletcher told Torbal, clapping a hand on the dwarf's shoulder. He glanced cautiously at Fenris, but was relieved to see that Torbal had not offended him, probably because Torbal had not insulted Fletcher as Bartrand had.

Torbal nodded at Fletcher's companions and then glanced behind them. "And where's that reprobate Varric?"

"Oh, he's spending a bit of time with my sister before we set off," Fletcher answered.

"Spending _time_, huh?" teased the dwarf. "Is _that_ what you humans call it?"

"Now, now; that's my sister you're talking about," Fletcher said in a slightly stern tone, but he was smiling, and Fenris's eyes darted between them, his muscles tightening, unsure whether they were joking or not.

"Hey, no offence intended," said Torbal, holding his hands up. "I'm not gonna be responsible for _another_ human taking his ball home to mama."

"_Another_ human? What do you mean?" Fletcher asked.

Torbal sighed, his huge, crinkly beard rustling as he shook his head. "That whore-humper Bartrand couldn't organise a piss-up in an alehouse. He's got a real spark in his ass, but there's nothing but tumbleweed bouncing around upstairs. We've already lost five men because they couldn't take the way he spoke to them. They were all humans, you see; like delicate hothouse flowers compared with dwarves."

"Well, that leaves me, Anders and a few of the other humans," Fletcher commented thoughtfully, "but we can stand up to Bartrand, don't you worry."

"And how about you, uh, Fergus? Finbar?"

"Fenris," the elf calmly corrected. "I am already acquainted with Bartrand, and I left him in no doubt as to my opinion of his leadership style."

"Hahaha! I like you, Fenton! And if you_ keep_ leaving that son of a bitch in no doubt, I'll go right on liking you!" Torbal then waved his hand toward an area where several animal skins had been staked across the ground and were drying in the sun. "They're almost ready, Hawke; we've been lucky with the weather, and we'll get the skins sewn up by tonight. Got a prototype, if you're interested?"

"If I'm _interested_? Where? _Where_? Show me!" Fletcher jumped up and down excitedly and Fenris chuckled quietly at the sight.

Torbal waddled over to a wooden crate and pulled out a large gourd-shaped pouch, fashioned from one of the pieces of dried skin. Attached to it were two straps, as well as a small hose, all of which were made of leather. He passed it to Fletcher, who grinned widely as he examined it.

"Mallory," said Hawke, "as you're not carrying a weapon, would you care to assist me in a demonstration?"

"I'd be happy to," she smiled, stepping forward.

"Thanks, Mallory." Hawke asked her to hold her arms out and he attached the pouch to her front, securing it by tying the straps around her neck and back. "This will be carried on the chest – and the belly, depending on how tall you are - as we'll all be lugging stuff on our backs," he explained to the others. "The pouch will be half-filled with a solution of salt water. Inside is a piece of metal that will be charged with electricity; Anders, that's where you come in. The metal will be in constant contact with the water, and the resulting chemical reaction will produce bubbles that rise to the top of the water and 'pop', thus providing us with oxygen, which can be breathed in using the hose."

"Each charge should last for a couple of hours," Torbal added, "by which time the water will need to be changed, anyway."

"Is this safe?" Fenris asked with a frown. "How strong will the electrical charge be?"

"Strong enough to singe that pretty hair of yours," answered Torbal, "but not strong enough to kill ya. And that would only happen if you're dumb enough to take the thing apart; the metal's contained inside the apparatus."

Fenris tilted his head and nodded as he examined the pouch. "This is very clever. You are to be congratulated," he said to Torbal and Fletcher.

"Very nice," Anders commented.

Fletcher grinned and began to remove the apparatus from Mallory. "It's not our idea; it's just a crude version of Paragon Garius's invention, but it'll do for us. We won't need to start using them until we're a ways in, but it might be a good idea for us to wear them anyway, just to get used to them. While we're in camp, Anders and I will make a large static generator, so none of us have to sleep in these. Both Torbal and I know the precise amounts of salt, sodium bicarbonate and other ingredients that go into the mix. Don't make your own mix; come to us for it. I'll tell you the formula as well, Fenris and Anders, just in case anything happens to me or Torbal."

"So, it is not as simple as mere saline?" asked Fenris.

Fletcher shook his head. "If the balance of salt is off, then chlorine gas might be produced instead of oxygen, and, if you inhaled that, you wouldn't need to worry about oxygen any more. Also, the apparatus isn't to be used around naked flames. We'll explain all of this to everyone before we set off, anyway."

"Let _me_ tell Bartrand," Torbal joked. "I won't forget. Promise."

"Don't tempt me," laughed Fletcher, and he clapped the dwarf's shoulder again. "Do you need anything?"

"Nah, I got what I need."

"I'm on my way to talk to Bartrand. Any concerns?" asked Fletcher. "I won't say they came from you."

"Tell that bastard I'm_ concerned _that a knuckle-scraping, shit-for-brains, asshole-caste dwarf is heading up the expedition, if you like, and feel free to tell him it came from me. I told him something along those lines only half an hour ago, anyway, but I've toned down what I _actually_ said for the benefit of the lady," Torbal said with a nod at Mallory.

"A polite dwarf? Whatever next? A Qunari jester?" Fletcher joked.

"Hey, I'm only polite once a month, and I just used up my quota, so watch it, Human," warned Torbal, his fat cheeks reddening further as he grinned. "Now, get outta here. I got work to do." He offered his chubby hand to Anders and Fenris, who shook it, and he bowed to Mallory. "Hey, Hawke, ignore that stuff I said about your sister; I didn't mean nothing by it. I'm sure she's a nice girl. Maybe needs her eyes examining, but that ain't her fault."

"No worries. Keep smiling, Torbal. See you soon." Fletcher shook his hand again and led his companions in the direction of Bartrand's voice.

"We're going to see your friend, Fenris. Think you can behave yourself?" Fletcher teased.

Fenris glanced sidelong at Fletcher and quirked an eyebrow. "I promise nothing."

As the elf's eyes left him, Fletcher's stomach flipped over; it had been a while since Fenris had looked at him like _that_. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "Good," was all he could manage in reply.

"Actually, it would be better if I remained above ground with the woman," Fenris said quietly. "Bartrand is rather uncouth, and she should not be exposed to that."

"She didn't seem bothered by what Torbal was saying," Fletcher reasoned.

"That is true, but he was at least moderately respectful toward her. Should Bartrand insult her, he may find himself divested of more than a few strands of hair."

"And what if he insults Anders?"

"Anders is a grown man who can fight his own battles."

"Right, we're _all_ going to see Bartrand," Fletcher announced loudly, sniggering as Fenris's eyebrow crept up. "Don't worry, Fenris," he whispered, "I doubt even Bartrand would be stupid enough to try anything with you around. I just want to see the look on his face when he sets eyes on you again. And I've missed Bill. I think _he _should be introduced to Bartrand as well."

"Perhaps you should name my sword as well?" Fenris suggested, "As it is just as likely he will be introduced to that."

"I'm sorry, Fenris; I don't think I'm well enough acquainted with your sword for first names, yet," Fletcher sniffed.

Fenris shook his head, his mouth twisting to hide a smile as Fletcher chortled beside him. "That can be rectified quite easily, Hawke."

"I'll take the lead!" Fletcher hastened his steps, overtaking Anders and Mallory, occasionally shooting a cheeky glance back at Fenris. When they reached the mouth of the cave, Fletcher held his hand up and stopped, listening.

"What is that bloody racket?" Anders demanded, placing his hands over his ears.

"It sounds like someone's being murdered!" exclaimed Mallory at the ear-splitting squeals coming from within the cave.

Fenris unsheathed his sword and moved over to the cave mouth. "Remain here," he ordered Mallory, before he entered, followed by the two mages.

They cautiously picked their way along toward a source of light they could see ahead; the high-pitched screeching seemed to be coming from there. Walking behind Fenris, Anders and Fletcher readied their staves. "Anything, Anders?" Fletcher asked.

"It's not darkspawn," he answered confidently.

As they neared the lit chamber, all three men paused, finding it hard to concentrate due to the assault on their ears. Amidst the din, Bartrand's voice could be heard, yelling expletives. "No magic unless it's absolutely necessary," Fletcher shouted at Anders, thinking of Fenris, as they entered the chamber. "…What in the blazes?"

As one, Fletcher, Fenris and Anders's mouths dropped open at the sight that met them: Bartrand, plus several of his workers, were chasing around after numerous small, squealing creatures that resembled a cross between a pig and a mole. Again and again, the creatures evaded the men's clutches, and Fletcher didn't even bother to hide his laugh when Bartrand fell flat on his face. They could quite happily have watched such a farcical sight all day, but, as their ears were starting to hurt, Fletcher decided that swift action was warranted.

"Outside, Fenris; I'm going to cast," he said quickly, holding his staff aloft.

Fenris shook his head. "I will stay. Be quick."

With a sigh, Fletcher recited a basic paralysis spell, not bothering to refine the sphere of the spell as he wanted Fenris's discomfort to be as brief as possible.

In an instant, everyone inside the chamber – Bartrand included – froze, and mercifully the clamour stopped; the only sound that could be heard was Fenris's heavy breathing. Anders walked ahead to examine the strange creatures while Fletcher tentatively placed a hand on the elf's back. "Are you all right? I'm sorry. Are you in pain?"

Fenris shook his head and steadied himself against the cave wall. "I will be fine. Thank you for your concern."

"Are you sure?" Fletcher suddenly became aware that he'd been instinctively stroking Fenris's back, and stilled his hand, but did not remove it. Fenris raised his head and gave a pained smile.

"I am sure. Please, do not worry over it. I will have to live with it; your powers will be called upon many times during the expedition."

"No." Fletcher shook his head emphatically. "You're not going to _live with it_. If I ask you to step out again, please do as I say. I'm not trying to order you around or anything, but I hate to see you in pain. Please, Fenris; I'm asking you."

Fletcher removed his hand from Fenris's back, watching as the elf leaned against the wall and folded his arms, sighing. "Very well. As_ I_ hate to see _you_ worry, I will do as you say. I will not _step out, _however, if our lives are in danger. No arguments."

"Well, I can see us having a _big_ argument if I asked you to do that. Fair enough; you have a deal." Fletcher offered his hand to the elf, and Fenris shook it, but Fletcher did not release it immediately. Fenris's eyes moved up to meet his, and for a moment, neither spoke. Fletcher's stomach flipped again, and he completely forgot they had company. "Fenris, I…"

The elf's eyes moved toward Anders, who was crouching over one of the creatures, watching them. "When you two have finished, I think I know what these animals are," Anders called over.

A jolt of irritation shot through Fletcher at the interruption, but if Fenris felt the same, he gave no sign. They walked over to Anders, who had awoken one of the creatures, which chirped quietly as he scratched behind its ears.

"This is a nug, I'm certain of it," Anders told them. "Oghren, someone I used to know, raved about them. The dwarves love them, to eat, I mean. Some people even keep them as pets, but dwarves find such an idea laughable." Anders glanced around the chamber, counting no less than twenty eight of them. "Looks like someone didn't keep the males and females apart; they breed like there's no tomorrow."

"A piss-up in an alehouse, indeed," Fletcher said crabbily, walking over to Bartrand and placing a hand on the dwarf's shoulder, none too gently.

With the spell reversed, Bartrand blinked and a scowl immediately formed. "You took your sodding time, _Partner_!" he seethed, slapping Fletcher's hand away. "You go and check on the vittles _before _you check on me? That's all kinds of crazy! I guess I shouldn't expect any less from a limp-wristed mage!"

Anders and Fenris walked over to them, and Bartrand glowered at the sight of another mage, but avoided Fenris's gaze completely.

"We meet again," Fenris hissed menacingly, and Bartrand took a step back before stomping away from them.

"Where's that fucking Nug Wrangler?" he yelled, before pointing at one of the frozen men. "Mage! Get over here and wake him up!"

"Please don't tell me this is the leader of the expedition," Anders groaned. "Is this sort of thing going to happen often? Can't you step in and take charge, Hawke?"

"That's a tempting idea, Anders, but I won't do anything like that without speaking to Varric; I wouldn't want to embarrass him. Come on, give me a hand." They went over to the frozen workers and reversed Fletcher's spell by touching them. After giving the men a moment to collect themselves, Fletcher asked them to round up the paralysed nugs, this time keeping the males and females separate. He then turned his attention to Bartrand.

"Has the safety equipment been installed in the main shaft, yet? The lighting? Or have you been too busy chasing after pigs?"

"Nugs," Anders corrected.

"Whatever. Well, Bartrand? You're already two days behind schedule, from what Varric told me."

"_Varric_ isn't down here doing all the donkey work, and neither are _you_," Bartrand accused. "While you're all mincing around up on the surface, _we're _the ones breaking our sodding backs down here. You have no idea of what's going on."

"Tell me, then," Fletcher said in a reasonable tone. "Why are you behind? Do you need any help?"

"It's a little late in the day to be offering help, isn't it?" Bartrand barked, and Fenris, feeling his ire rising, drew a steadying breath. "Cram it, Mage. It's not your concern."

Feeling a movement to his left, Fletcher held his arm out to stop Fenris from advancing. "It's very _much_ my concern, _Dwarf_. I've put a lot of my hard-earned money into this venture, and these two men," he added, gesturing at Anders and Fenris, "helped me earn it. I want that safety equipment installed _now_. And I understand you've driven five men away. Have they been replaced?"

"Who told you that? Was it that fat bastard Torbal?"

"Never you mind who told me!" Fletcher snapped. "_Have_ they been replaced or _not_?"

"I'll replace them when I get a fucking chance!" Bartrand bit back. "You want safety equipment put in. You want nugs rounded up. You want men replaced. Are _you _gonna get your hands dirty down here, Precious? I doubt it!" Bartrand grabbed one of Fletcher's hands and examined his palm. "Just as I thought! You've never done an honest day's work in your life!"

"I'll have you know I'm a farmer's son!" Fletcher bristled, snatching his hand back. "Don't try and tell _me_ I know nothing of hard work. And it was never part of the deal that Varric or I helped set up the equipment; in fact, you told us we'd only hold you up."

"A farmer's son? Well, your daddy must be even more of a shiftless fucker than you are," retorted Bartrand. Fenris, who could feel Fletcher trembling next to him, pushed in front of the dwarf.

"I find your tone, and attitude,_ highly_ irritating," he snarled, and Bartrand's sneering countenance quickly melted away, giving way to ambiguity. "You will _do _as he directs, if you know what is good for you."

Bartrand held Fenris's murderous gaze for a second, but quickly looked away, an odd growling sound coming from his throat. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm not gonna get _anything_ done if I'm standing here, talking to you, am I? Now get out of my hair!"

"I want that equipment in place by_ tonight_, Bartrand," Fletcher commanded. "Everyone's ready to leave tomorrow."

"But we'll have to work through the night!"

"Then you'll _work_ through the night. I don't want to hear any more excuses; you've had plenty of time and money to get this done. _I'll _find the extra five workers; I know plenty of strong men who want to earn some money."

"Yeah, I _bet_ you do," Bartrand answered caustically, the rest of his reply dying with another withering glare from Fenris. "Go on then, sod off, the lot of you. I've got a fucking _night_ to work through. Hope you all sleep well in your nice, comfy beds."

They watched him stomp off, and Fletcher helped corral the last couple of nugs. When the workers had departed, he stood on the spot, his head falling back as he groaned.

"You're going to have to do something about him, Hawke," Anders said tightly. "The only thing I'd trust him to lead us to is our deaths. I'm going to check on Mallory." With that, he walked toward the cave entrance and disappeared around a bend.

Fletcher could hear Fenris's quiet footfalls as the elf moved to his side, and both of them stood together in contemplation for a while. Fletcher then heard a sigh, and Fenris softly cleared his throat.

"I hope you did not take…exception to my intervention," the elf said quietly. "I did not mean to overstep…"

"Fenris, it's a good job you _did _intervene," laughed Fletcher humourlessly. "I think Bartrand is one of those dwarves who doesn't have much respect for mages. Especially bent ones."

"Bent?"

"Yes, you know, with a preference for men." He shook his head dejectedly, and noticed Fenris folding his arms from the corner of his eye.

"Your status as a mage is irrelevant," Fenris insisted angrily. "_You _should be the one leading the expedition, not him. Not_ all_ mages are corrupt or untrustworthy. He would do well to remember that."

All troubling thoughts of Bartrand and the expedition fled from Fletcher's mind as he turned toward the elf, wearing a hesitant smile. "Fenris…do you realise what you just said?"

Fenris took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Yes. I do. Now, let us return to the surface." He walked away from Fletcher, pausing as he reached the entrance to look back. "Are you coming?"

"Fenris?" Fletcher moved over to him, stopping at his side. "Would you like to take lunch with me? Just the two of us? I suspect that you appreciate peace and quiet as much as I do. Maybe we should get as much of it as possible, while we still can."

"Peace and quiet," Fenris repeated softly. "You are correct; there will not be much of it once we are down here. Have you anywhere in mind?"

"How about at the foot of the Vhenadahl? We can head home, pinch a bit of food and then go to the Alienage. It should be quiet there today, as there's no market. Although…we _might_ have to fend off Merrill."

"After Bartrand, Merrill would be a soothing balm to my ears," replied Fenris wryly.

"Is that a yes?"

Fenris smiled, nodded once and led the way up to the surface, with a beaming Fletcher not far behind.


	49. Chapter 49

_Thank you again to Mary for her wonderful beta, and to both Mary and Carrie for their encouragement. _

~o~O~o~

Finally, the day of the expedition arrived. Fletcher and Fenris, who had once again slept on the settee together, were up early as Fletcher wanted to make his mother and sister a cooked breakfast before they departed.

After washing and dressing, Fenris assisted him in the kitchen. Conversation was minimal, but they were much more relaxed around each other than they had been of late, thanks in part to the previous day's picnic. They'd taken lunch at the Alienage, where Merrill had joined them long enough to share their food, before taking herself off. To Fletcher's surprise, Fenris had told him of the extravagant, often excessive dinner parties Danarius used to hold at his estate in Minrathous, pointing out the differences between them and the simple pleasure of eating sandwiches and cake beneath a tree. He'd also recounted some of the more profane pursuits of Danarius and the other Magisters, stating that he'd find it difficult to imagine any of the mages he'd met in Kirkwall behaving in such a way.

Although Fenris hadn't said so, Fletcher felt that he was being compared with the Magisters, and that he'd acquitted himself favourably against them. He also wondered if Fenris wasn't also talking about Merrill, but decided to let Fenris say what he wanted to say, and to leave it at that.

That evening, Leandra, with Fletcher's help, had prepared a huge roast dinner. Donnic and Merrill were invited, and Bethany, Varric and Gamlen were also there. Fletcher had considered asking Anders, but, remembering his odd demeanour when he'd visited the clinic earlier, and that he'd 'forgotten' the card game at the Hanged Man, Fletcher decided against it. Also, Fletcher would not have been so understanding if Anders 'forgot' to turn up when his mother had made dinner.

"So, when shall we give Mother the brooch?" Fletcher asked the elf, cracking a few eggs into a pan; Fenris was on bacon duty. "We're sort of running out of time."

"After breakfast, before we depart," Fenris answered.

"_Just_ before we depart? Why not give it to her during breakfast?"

"No particular reason," Fenris said quietly with a shrug, and Fletcher caught a glimpse of shifty green eyes through white hair.

"You really think she's going to be offended, don't you?" Fletcher laughed. "You don't know my mother; the reason I suggested giving it to her _during _breakfast is because she'll be hugging you for about twenty minutes. If we give it to her as we depart, we'll be late!"

When no answer came from the elf, Fletcher took his pan of eggs off the flame and set it on the counter. "Or is that what you're afraid of?"

"I am _not _afraid," Fenris said as he turned the bacon over, and Fletcher once again noticed Fenris's eyes darting around beneath his hair.

"Well, what is it, then?"

Fenris also set his pan aside and slowly released a breath. "I am not certain you would understand. Or perhaps you would? I don't know."

"You won't know unless you tell me, will you?" Fletcher encouraged gently.

Fenris hung his head a little and took a minute to answer. "It is just…I do not remember my own mother." His eyes darted up to Fletcher's. "Not that I'm…I would never presume that _your_ mother…" He sighed and shook his head.

"I think it's a bit late for that," Fletcher said with a smile. "Mother loves to _mother _people, and she's very fond of you. When we were in the kitchen last night, she gave me a hug and said she felt better about me going on the expedition knowing that you'd be with me. She also said she'll be very cross if either of us are hurt."

Fenris laughed briefly before anxiety marred his brow. "I am…touched." He briefly considered asking what he had done to deserve her care, but suspected such a question would anger or upset Fletcher, and he refrained. "I am unaccustomed to family life. I do not know how to conduct myself, or what is proper."

"You're conducting yourself just fine, Fen." Fletcher placed his pan back on to the heat, but kept one eye on the elf. "All you have to do is be yourself. That is the person Mother is so fond of. That is the person I'm…well…" Fletcher also shrugged and worried the eggs with a spatula.

"Forgive me," Fenris said mildly. "You must be weary of my…interminable _humility_."

"No…not at all." Fletcher laid the spatula down and turned to face Fenris. "Humility is a strength, not a weakness. It _can_ be overdone, though; I do wish you saw yourself as others see you. As _I _see you." He sighed and moved a little closer to Fenris, who was keeping an eye on the bacon. "Don't ever think you can't tell me what's on your mind, though, Fen. Everyone needs a confidant, and I'm honoured to be yours."

A small smile curved Fenris's mouth, and he looked up at Fletcher through his fringe. "And I am honoured to have you as my confidant. Tell me…who is yours?"

"Up until now, it's been mainly Beth, I suppose, even though _you_ know things about me that nobody else does. As soon as we walk out of that door today, though, there'll be a vacancy for the position of my confidant. Interested?"

"What are the requirements?" Fenris asked nonchalantly.

"Well, I'll only take elves."

"Merrill, perhaps?" suggested Fenris, his tone warm.

"No. It has to be a man, in case I need to talk about _personal _stuff."

"But Bethany-"

"Bethany's my sister, and _nothing _embarrasses _her_. No, her replacement will have to be a man. And preferably a fair-haired one; Beth's dark-haired and I fancy a change."

Fenris's smile widened. "And is there any other criteria?"

"Um…preferably a non-mage, to bring a different perspective, you know? And they _have _to be comely; it wouldn't do for me to be seen with an unattractive person."

"I see," chuckled Fenris as he placed the cooked bacon onto a plate. "And how does one apply for the position?"

"Well, you just ask." He moved a little closer and whispered, "As you're already friends with the boss, I'm sure he can pull a few strings for you."

Fenris laughed softly and shook his head. "In that case, I would like to formally apply for the position of Confidant to Messere Fletcher Hawke."

"It's Fletcher Malcolm Hawke, actually," Fletcher informed him. "You've got the job."

"Is there no interview? No trial?"

"You've just had the interview, and you impressed the boss. He's not even seeing any of the other candidates. Welcome to the team." Fletcher extended his hand, and, when Fenris had stopped chuckling, he shook it.

"You make me laugh," the elf uttered softly.

"Well, you make me laugh, as well," Fletcher answered, still holding on to Fenris's hand. He saw Fenris's eyes move behind him, and _Bill _made an appearance.

"For my first duty as Confidant to Messere Fletcher Malcolm Hawke, I should inform him that his eggs are burning."

"What? Oh, shit!" Fletcher hastily released Fenris's hand and turned his attention to the eggs, but they were beyond saving. "I blame you for this," he joked. "Boss's privilege."

"Ah, I see how it's going to be," Fenris answered. "You had better hope that _your _boss is more accommodating. You _are _my confidant, after all."

"Uh-oh," muttered Fletcher.

"Yes. You would do well to be on your guard," the elf teased, and passed Fletcher a few more eggs.

~o~O~o~

During breakfast, Varric called to collect Fletcher and Fenris, and to say goodbye to Bethany. After clearing up, Varric and Bethany stepped outside, leaving Fenris and Fletcher with Leandra.

"Mother, before we go, we have something for you," announced Fletcher, reaching into his pocket and producing a small box. Fenris stepped back a little, shifting uneasily on the balls of his feet.

"For me? How thoughtful!" Leandra exclaimed, taking the box. "What is it?"

"Open it," invited Fletcher.

With an excited glance at the two men, she slowly removed the lid and gasped as she stared at the silver and lavender brooch. "Oh…this is exquisite! You really shouldn't have…but I'm so glad you did! And it's a perfect match for my dress!" Leandra began to pin it to the collar of her grey and lilac dress, with assistance from Fletcher.

"It's from both of us," Fletcher told her, "but it was Fenris's idea to buy it."

The blood drained from the elf's face, and he gulped, relaxing only when Leandra looked at him with tears in her eyes, obviously _not _offended. "Oh, Fenris, what a wonderful thought. Thank you so much." She moved over to the elf and swallowed him in a hug. Fenris laughed nervously and brought one hand around to awkwardly pat her back. "And which of you chose this?" she asked as she pulled away, wiping her eyes.

"Erm…that would be Merrill," Fletcher confessed with a laugh.

"Well, I will be sure to call on her to thank her," said Leandra, giving her son a hug and kiss. "I will treasure this. Oh, I will miss you. Both of you. Look after each other, won't you?"

"We will; we have your cooking to come back to," Fletcher joked with a glance at Fenris, who had moved over to the door. "In a hurry, Fen?" he grinned.

"We, uh, we should not be late," Fenris said, looking mildly embarrassed, a flush in his cheeks. "Thank you for your hospitality," he said to Leandra with a bow.

"As Bethany said, this will always be your home, Fenris," she told him. The elf nodded quickly and opened the door.

"Thank you. I will…leave you to say your goodbyes." Without another word, he ducked outside and leaned against the wall, sighing heavily. To his right, at the bottom of the steps, he saw Bethany and Varric, who were obviously having a private conversation, and he turned away, not wanting to intrude, but he couldn't help hearing them.

"Here, Sunshine; I want you to look after this for me."

"But this is your father's signet ring, Varric; I can't take that!"

"Look, I'll only end up losing it down there. And if times get hard, you should be able to get a few sovereigns for it."

"I would never sell this, Varric."

"Hey! I'm a dwarf, remember? I _expect _you to sell it if you need the coin. It's just a ring."

"Well, I'm a human, and I'm _not _going to sell it. It'll still be here when you return. Don't take too long, will you?"

"Listen, Princess. I'll be back to you as soon as my stubby little legs will carry me." Varric paused, then, and sighed. "I guess I'm gonna need to speak to your brother. About…you know."

"No, you don't," Bethany replied. "Fletcher and I talked about that a long time ago, and he approved, so long as we were careful. And we were. I couldn't let you leave without saying goodbye properly."

Fenris scratched at his ears, trying to block out the kissing sounds that ensued, and stared at the door, willing Fletcher to come out. Quickly.

"Your brother's a good egg," Varric said quietly. "Well, Aveline may have confiscated my key, but I persuaded her that I would buy the safehouse when we come back, so she's keeping the Chantry at bay for now. What she _doesn't _know is that _you _still have your key," he chuckled. "Just keep the entertaining of men to a minimum, huh?"

"Oh, Varric," she said sternly. "Don't joke about such things."

"Ah, I just figured if you thought me an ass, it would be easier for you to say goodbye. Guess that didn't work. Come here." They fell silent, and Fenris assumed they were embracing. "Tell 'em I've gone on ahead, Sunshine," Varric said after a few minutes. "You take care of your mama, okay?"

"Yes, I will," she answered. "And take care of yourself, dearest." Fenris heard the dwarf's booted steps growing quieter as he left the slums, and his stomach lurched as Bethany started sobbing quietly. To his eternal relief, the door opened and Fletcher finally stepped out.

~o~O~o~

After consoling Bethany and saying his own goodbye to her, Fletcher, with Fenris, caught up to Varric on the way to the site. Fenris observed that both men seemed to be covering their wistfulness by playfully insulting each other, and was glad that he wasn't leaving someone who meant a great deal to him behind. He wondered how _he _would feel if Fletcher wasn't going on the expedition, or if he wasn't. The ache he felt in his belly answered the question for him, and he did his best to join in with the banter, also hoping to buoy Fletcher's spirits.

When they arrived at the site, Sebastian was already there, watching as several small carts were being taken into the main cave. He seemed pleased to see Fletcher and Fenris together and apparently in good spirits, and, if he harboured any concerns over his discovery of Fletcher's secret, he didn't show it. Anders also arrived a short time later, and chatted to Varric while Fletcher, Fenris and Sebastian lent a hand to the workers.

When all of the supplies and livestock had been taken to the main chamber about a quarter of a mile in, the workers congregated outside for a break and to feel the sun on their faces one last time for possibly the next few months.

After a while, some of the dwarves seemed impatient to get started, and approached Bartrand, wanting to know when they'd be setting off. The expedition leader moved a distance away and loudly called for the assembled workers to gather together.

"Right! You all know what you're doing. Well, you'd better, 'cos it's too late to turn back now," he stated, eliciting some laughter, but not from Fletcher's group: indeed, the mage shot Varric a concerned glance, which Varric shrugged at. "Let's get plunderin', then! We'll all be rich men by the time we get outta there! Let's go!" Bartrand headed toward the main cave, with Fletcher hot on his tail.

"Wait a minute!" Fletcher caught up to the dwarf and moved in front of him, blocking his path. "Is that all you're going to say to them?" he demanded quietly, not wanting to show Bartrand up, for Varric's sake.

"What else do you want me to say to them? Should I give them a cuddle and a pat on the head and tell them not to be afraid of the dark? Some of these people have been underground for most of their lives. These are _men_, son, not the kind of _boys _you're used to."

"Don't think you can talk down to me, Bartrand. And not all of the men have been underground; there are several humans and surface dwarves here. Aren't you going to say anything about safety? About the effects of being underground for long periods?"

"They all know what they signed up for," growled Bartrand, "but if you need to coddle the humans, be my guest. Just don't take too bloody long over it."

"_You _should be doing this," Fletcher hissed, not relishing the prospect of speaking to a large group of people, something he'd never done before. "It's lucky for these people that a couple of healers are coming along, who actually care about their health. Now, you'd better announce me, if you don't want to lose face."

"You're too kind, Twinkletoes," Bartrand said with a sarcastic bow. "Don't expect me to thank you, and don't expect any thanks from this lot for being told what they already know."

"I'm doing it for Varric's sake, not yours. Now get on with it," Fletcher ordered tautly.

"The mage wants to say a few things," Bartrand told the group unenthusiastically, and Fenris noticed Fletcher's nostrils flaring and his posture tensing as he stepped forward.

"Good morning, everyone," Fletcher said to the group, and was answered with a few murmurs and nods. "I've met some of you already, but to those of you who don't know me, I'm Hawke, and I'm one of the investors, along with Varric and Bartrand. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm also a mage; a healer, as it happens, and so is my friend, Anders." Fletcher pointed to Anders, who moved to Fletcher's side and nodded at the group.

"I know that some of you originally hail from Orzammar," Fletcher went on, "and the last thing you want to hear is a lecture on how to live underground from a human. I'd just like to say a few things for the benefit of the other humans and the surfacers. Oh, and the elf, of course." He grinned and bowed to Fenris, who squirmed a little but nodded back. "If you'll all humour me, I'll be as brief as I can," he continued, and, as there were no objections besides a few pairs of rolled eyes, he took a deep breath, hoping he wasn't about to alienate the dwarves by appearing condescending.

"Before I start, is everyone happy with their oxygen apparatus? Does anyone find it uncomfortable?"

"They're all right, Hawke," Torbal piped up loudly. "There were a few grumblers, but they soon came round to the idea when I told 'em they didn't _have_ to breathe if they didn't wanna."

"I can imagine," Fletcher laughed. "Well, at the entrance to the main cave, there are several piles of items." He gestured toward the cave, and waited until everyone had had a good look. "I know you've all brought things with you, but I'd like for you all to take a couple of each item. We don't know how long we'll be down there for, and our own supplies might run out."

"What's there?" a grizzled, grey-haired Orzammar dwarf, Reijyr, called out.

"There's soap, wash cloths, socks in several different sizes, emergency dried rations-"

"_Soap_? Wash cloths?" Reijyr scoffed. "You're seriously telling grown men that they need to _bathe_?"

"Yes, we are," Anders answered calmly. "Cleanliness is very important. You'll be getting no daylight and the air down there will be stale and moist; if you don't stay clean, you'll get some pretty nasty skin complaints."

"This is ridiculous," Reijyr complained. "Maybe you _humans_ don't know how to wash, but _I _was keeping myself _clean _before you were born, Sonny Jim."

"Let 'em speak, Reijyr," Torbal argued. "You'll get your coin soon enough, you grasping old bastard." The dwarven workers burst out laughing, and Fletcher and Anders smiled nervously while they waited for the hullabaloo to die down.

"Go on, Andreas," Torbal directed.

Anders nodded at the dwarf gratefully, not bothering to correct him. "As I was saying, it's very important that we _all _keep ourselves clean. Pay particular attention to your hair, beards, armpits, genitals and feet. I don't want anyone coming to me or Hawke with festering sores because they didn't wash properly. Apart from being very unpleasant and painful, they don't heal well and could become infected. Hawke and I don't have unlimited reserves of magic or potions. Anyone acquiring a serious infection will _not _be permitted to continue, and will therefore hold up the expedition."

"That's right; you'll _hold up the expedition_," Varric echoed, "and I know how _stabby_ you Orzammar folk get when you're kept away from your riches." After some heckling and a few laughs, Varric went on, "So, the lesson to learn from this is: stay clean, or you'll annoy everyone. You annoy our human mage friends, here, and they'll cluck, shake their heads, and, if they're _really _pissed, they might even frown a little. You annoy the _dwarves,_ on the other hand, and a _festering sore_ will be the least of your worries."

A laugh rippled around the group, and Fletcher once again waited for quiet. "Anders and I are both healers. I know that some of you don't trust, or like, magic, but a lot of ailments can be treated without it. If _any _of you injure yourselves or feel unwell I want you to come to one of us, no matter how minor you think the problem is. It's better that you swallow your pride and come to us with a cut on your finger than for you to have it amputated later on."

"That'll be you _humans_, then, going to a healer with _cuts_ on your fingers," another Orzammar dwarf, Thirin, spat with a pointed look at the extra five workers Fletcher had recruited from among the refugees in Darktown.

"I don't know where you get your ideas about humans from, Dwarf, but none of us have had it easy," Thom, one of the refugees, retorted. "We're not as fragile as you think. Just keep that handsome nose of yours in your own business."

"And what about the knife-ear?" Reijyr joined in. "He looks like he'd fall over in a strong breeze. I give him two nights down there before he cracks."

A clamour erupted, and Fletcher removed his staff and struck the ground at his feet with it. A violent rumble travelled along the ground, and the group quickly shut up.

"We are _not _going to have any of this dwarves-versus-humans-and-elves nonsense!" Fletcher barked, angered by the slight on Fenris. "We're all here for one purpose, and it would be nice if we could do it without us all wanting to kill each other! If any of you think you can't do that, I suggest you leave while you still can, and I assure you that I will _not_ tolerate any racism on this expedition from _anyone_."

"It was _your_ idea to put humans, dwarves and elves together, Mage," Bartrand added unwisely. "It's inevitable there will be trouble. How do you plan to _deal _with it, exactly?"

"You don'twant to know the answer to that, Bartrand," Fletcher seethed, pointing his staff at the dwarf. "_Don't_ try me. I can only be pushed so far." He turned back to the group, his face red, and gripped his staff tightly to hide his trembling hands. "Does anyone else have anything stupid to say? Let's get it out of the way now."

A few members of the group mumbled, and some shuffling of feet was heard, but no one had anything further to add.

"Good," Fletcher snapped, and, feeling a hand on the small of his back, he took a deep breath and glanced at Fenris, who had moved next to him. "Good," he repeated in a softer voice, and pointed over to the entrance of the cave. "Among the pile of items are several large chunks of chalk. I want you all to take some and stow it in your packs, and for you to eat a one-inch piece of it once a day."

"You want us to _eat_ chalk?" one of the humans exclaimed, but none of the dwarves looked surprised.

"It'll help keep your bones strong," explained Fletcher. "It's no substitute for sunlight, but it's something. Actually, it doesn't taste as bad as you'd imagine. I wouldn't recommend eating it long term, but it won't hurt for a short time."

"Dwarves have been eating it for centuries," Torbal declared, "and it hasn't done any of _us_ no harm. Well, besides stunting our growth and making us cranky as hell; oh, and giving us our distinctive pretty looks. But I'm nit-picking, here." He and several other dwarves laughed at the nervous expressions on the human workers' faces.

"He _is _joking," Fletcher assured the humans once the laughter had subsided. "…I think. Anyway, I know that many of you have spent time underground before, but there are just as many of you that haven't, myself included. Most of you have families, children or friends on the surface or in Orzammar. Dwarf, elf or human, none of us are immune to feeling lonely or homesick-"

"What are you talking about, Hawke?" one of the surface dwarves interjected. "I'm going on this expedition to get _away _from the sodding missus!"

This time, everyone – even Bartrand – laughed. "Well, for those of us who are _not _tryingto escape our wives," Fletcher said, "I just want to say that Anders, Sebastian – who is an Andrastian - and I are always around if you want to talk about anything, in the strictest of confidence. And in case you're not comfortable talking to a human, or a mage, Varric here is also at your disposal."

Varric grinned and bowed, and some groans and laughs were heard, but a few words of thanks were also given.

"For those of you who don't know, I'm a Grey Warden," Anders announced. More groans were heard, but they were quickly silenced by others in the group. "I know Bartrand has a route planned out, but if I sense darkspawn in our vicinity, we may have to deviate from that route; I don't want to engage them unless we have no other choice."

"_Deviate_?" Bartrand barked. "Nobody said anything about _deviating_!"

"I would think it would be obvious to any _intelligent_ person," Anders retorted defiantly.

Bartrand stomped over to Hawke and folded his arms. "Isn't this why you brought a warden along? To deal with the darkspawn? A chicken-shit warden who _avoids _darkspawn isn't much use to us, is he?"

Ignoring Bartrand, Anders turned back to the group. "I'm _here _to sense the darkspawn and to formulate strategies if we _do _have to engage them. If you want to blindly follow Bartrand against my advice and become tainted, be my guest. I'll tell you now, though, that magic doesn't cure the taint – which is a slow, agonising death, by the way - and I don't have the ingredients with which to perform the Joining. I know you all want the gold Bartrand's promised you as quickly as possible, but you can't spend it if you're _dead_."

A hush fell over the group before one of the human refugees, Dudley, piped up, "I'll do whatever you say, Anders. I had to flee Ferelden with my family because of the Blight, but it's thanks to you lot I still _have_ a family. My village would have been overrun if it wasn't for them wardens. You're all heroes to me, and should be treated with respect." Some members of the group echoed his sentiments, and Fletcher grinned at Anders, who smiled back. Bartrand, however, looked far from pleased.

"One more thing," Fletcher said. "We're all going to be spending a lot of time together and privacy may be difficult. When we're in camp, of course everyone is free to wander around, but _please _tell someone where you're going, and don't go too far. And, although lighting has been set up in the main tunnels, we'll still be exploring some dark places. I'd like to ask everyone to pair up with someone, and to stay close to your partner at all times when not in camp. We'll be doing regular head counts. If you become separated from the group, stay put; we'll come back for you. If you wander off, it'll be that much harder to find you."

"And that advice is doubly important if darkspawn are around," added Anders.

"Do I need to hold my partner's dick when he takes a piss?" Bartrand demanded.

"You can barely hold your own, Brother, let alone anyone else's!" countered Varric to braying laughter among the group. Fletcher, feeling increasingly uncomfortable talking to a large number of people he barely knew, pressed on, while he had the courage to do so.

"If you'll all bear with me for one more minute, I'm going to do a head count now," he said, pointing at each man as he counted them. When he'd finished, he frowned and muttered something under his breath, before counting again. "Fifteen dwarves, one elf, eleven humans. That's not right." His frown deepened, and he clasped his chin. "Anders, count the group for me; my numbers are off," he said quietly.

"How many should there be?"

"Twenty-six. I counted twenty-seven."

Anders mumbled to himself as he also counted the group. "Including us lot, Bartrand and Torbal, I make it twenty-seven, Hawke."

Fletcher walked over to Bartrand. "Have you employed an extra person, Bartrand?"

"I've employed lots of people," he grunted unhelpfully. "What difference does it make, anyhow? So long as the numbers match what we have now, what's the problem? You've done enough talking, Mage. Wrap it up and let's get _started_. You were the one haranguing _me _for being behind."

Shaking his head, Fletcher walked back to Anders and addressed the group. "Um…we seem to have an odd number; some of you will have to make up a threesome."

Fletcher rubbed his forehead as the group leered and whooped, feeling the beginnings of a headache.

"Back here, Hawke!" a human worker announced, indicating that three of them had formed a trio.

"Thank you. Oh, just one more thing-"

"You already said that!" Bartrand growled. "Get a sodding move on, before we all die of old age!"

Fletcher's stomach knotted as some of the group appeared to agree with Bartrand, and he tried to console himself with the fact that not all of them had, but he couldn't help feeling a little intimidated. "Anders and my friend Fenris, here, sometimes suffer from sleep disturbances. Should this happen, _do not _wake them, but fetch me, even if I'm asleep."

"What kind of sleep disturbances?" Bartrand demanded. "Are we gonna be woken up in the middle of the night because these two streaks of piss are missing their mommies?"

"You don't need to know that," Fletcher answered crisply, struggling to rein in his irritation. "Just do as I've asked." He faced the group again. "I won't keep you any longer. Thanks for listening. Sebastian would like to say something very quickly."

Sebastian stepped forward and politely bowed to the increasingly-impatient group. "Good morning to you all. I will be performing a blessing for our forthcoming journey; should any of you wish to participate, you will be very welcome. I will be just over here." He gestured to his side.

The group broke apart, and a few mutters of "stupid idea bringing humans and elves along," and "what business do humans have going into the Deep Roads?" or similar were heard from some of the dwarves.

"Tough crowd," Fletcher murmured disconsolately as he watched the majority of the dwarves head for the cave with Bartrand, while Torbal hung around by himself, not wanting to receive a Chantry blessing, but wanting to follow Bartrand even less.

"Hey, you did great, Hawke," Varric reassured him. "The humans are with you, and, considering you still have a head, I'd say the dwarves think you're okay, too. Dwarves don't buy you flowers or hug you if they respect you; they leave you be. Don't sweat it." Seeing that only six of the humans had joined Sebastian, Varric headed over to him, along with Anders, while Fenris waited for Fletcher. As he turned to join the elf, he was almost knocked off his feet by a hefty slap to his back. He warily turned around to face Reijyr, the dwarf that had barracked him earlier.

"Didn't expect a _human_ to think of the chalk," the dwarf said gruffly, before nodding and walking off.

Fenris moved to Fletcher's side and watched Reijyr depart. "Perhaps you will yet emerge from the Deep Roads with your head intact?" he quipped, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

"Maybe." Fletcher shrugged, allowing himself a sliver of hope as they walked over to Sebastian to receive their blessing. "Um, Fenris?" he asked nervously, feeling uncertain of himself after talking to the group.

"Yes?"

"I was wondering…um, would you-would _you _like to be my partner? I know you're already my _confidant_ and I don't want to put upon you. There's always Varric, Sebastian or Anders…well, maybe not Anders. Erm, it doesn't even have to be _any_ of them. You can partner whomever you like; I was just suggesting…"

Fenris, sensing that Fletcher's nerves were frazzled, waited patiently for a break in the mage's blathering. "Have you finished, yet?" he asked kindly when Fletcher stopped to take a breath.

Fletcher halted abruptly, his mouth hanging open, mid-blather.

"Ah, you _have _finished," decided Fenris, his expression hidden by his hair as he looked straight ahead. "Asking me is unnecessary; I assumed we would be partners. Providing…_you _have no objections, of course?"

"Objections?" Fletcher spluttered through a laugh. "You let me say all of that, and all along you-"

"It _was_ rather droll," the elf quietly interrupted.

"What? Watching me twist in the wind?" This time Fenris didn't answer, and, with a glance to his side, Fletcher could see the elf's shoulders trembling. "For that, you can partner _Anders_," he threatened.

"I will gladly partner Anders, if _you_ partner Bartrand," was the elf's composed reply.

They walked over to Sebastian and waited for the Chantry brother to prepare himself for the blessing. "It would seem we're stuck with each other, then," Fletcher whispered.

"It would seem," agreed the elf.

As Sebastian began to speak, a warm, fond smile passed between the two of them, and, for the time being, Fletcher's worries eased.


	50. Chapter 50

_Genuine and heartfelt thanks to Mary for being a super beta and to both Mary and Carrie for their friendship. Due to real life this will be the last update for a little while. My thanks also to those of you reading the story and for your uplifting comments; they mean the world to me._

~o~O~o~

Having received Sebastian's blessing, Fletcher, as well as those who had joined Sebastian, followed him through to the main chamber beneath the ground, where the preliminary forays into the Deep Roads would begin. When they arrived, Bartrand was busy issuing orders to the dwarves. The workers set off down various tunnels, all carrying equipment that appeared too heavy for them to bear, but they made no complaints. Fletcher and his little group set their belongings down and Fletcher approached the expedition leader.

"What do you want us to do, Bartrand?" he offered.

"Don't worry your pretty head over it, Snowflake," Bartrand muttered, turning away from his workers for a moment, and Fletcher sighed and rolled his eyes. "This is no kind of work for a human."

"Hawke's a strong lad," Varric defended, "and the rest of these guys are no slouches, either. Put 'em to work, Bartrand: I know you, and I won't have you refusing to split the money because the _humans _didn't do any of the dirty work."

The brothers scowled at each other for a minute, and Fletcher was surprised by the stubborn set of Varric's jaw. After a while, Bartrand seemed to relent. "All right; we'll be setting up camp here tonight, so you," he said, pointing to the human workers, "get tidying up and setting up bedrolls and stuff. They're all over there in the corner. Elf, you stand there and look pretty if you like-"

"Hey!" Fletcher growled when Fenris made no attempt to stand up for himself. "Don't you _dare_ talk down to any of us, Bartrand! I know _you_ wouldn't know _pretty _if it smacked you in the face, but-"

"Can he cook?" Bartrand asked Varric.

"I _can_ speak for myself, you know!" Fletcher retorted angrily. "And yes, I can cook, but I don't see-"

"That's _your_ job, then," Bartrand ordered, walking over to a stack of small wooden cages containing live nugs. "One of the humans that buggered off was meant to be our cook. The only dwarf here that knows how to cook is Thirin; he used to work in a tavern, but I need him in the tunnels."

"What? And you didn't think to say anything until now?" replied Fletcher incredulously. "What if _none_ of us knew how to cook?"

Bartrand shrugged indifferently and opened one of the cages, grabbing a wriggling nug by the throat. "You know how to prepare these?"

"Well, no…"

Bartrand groaned and shook his head. "Thirin!" he yelled at the top of his voice, causing Fletcher and some of the others to jump. "Get your ass over here!"

A mean-looking, dirty-blond dwarf with a plaited beard dropped his tools and stomped over to them. "What?" he barked.

Bartrand shoved the nug into his hands and started to walk away, with Varric following close behind. "Show 'im how to make nug," he commanded. "The workers'll expect food when they come back."

"Show a _human _how to make nug?" Thirin questioned, but Bartrand ignored him. Thirin eyed Fletcher's group with disgust and shook his head. "Get a spit set up," he ordered gruffly.

"And how do we do that, serah?" Sebastian queried politely.

"Do I have to do _everything_?" barked the dwarf.

"I know how to make a spit," Anders announced. "I've done my share of camping out. Somebody give me a hand." He walked over to a pile of rubble and began to sort out suitable materials; Sebastian followed him to assist.

"Here," Thirin said, passing the nug to Fletcher and taking another out of the cage. "Six of 'em should be enough."

"Er…what do you want me to do with this?" Fletcher asked with wide eyes.

"Kill it, unless you like your food extra rare."

"B-but I've never-" Fletcher stammered faintly.

A sickening squeal sounded as Thirin twisted the head of the nug he was holding, breaking its neck. He then threw the unfortunate animal to the ground and removed another nug from the cage. "Well?" he growled.

Fletcher looked into the creature's eyes and it blinked at him before nuzzling its snout into his armpit. "I-I don't think I can," he protested weakly.

"Ancestors' tits! You'll _eat_ it though, won't you?" Thirin yelled as he broke the neck of the other nug he was holding. "Sodding humans! Gimme that!" He snatched Fletcher's nug and quickly killed it, tossing it to the ground.

"Look, I _could_ put them to sleep before you do that," Fletcher offered, breaking into a sweat as his stomach roiled. "It's a shame…"

"I'd rather eat my own crap than eat anything that had _magic _used on it," the dwarf snarled, and he quickly dispatched the remaining nugs amid horrendous squealing. "Any of you know how to butcher meat? Or do I have to do that as well?" he demanded.

"Yes," Fletcher answered quietly, looking down at the nugs, some of which were still twitching.

"So do I," Sheldon, one of the human workers, called over.

"Get on with it, then," Thirin ordered Sheldon. "I'll tell _you_ how to make the sauce," he said to Fletcher, pointing over to another stack of crates atop a small wagon. "Onions, butter, flour, plums, tomatoes, nug blood, vinegar, sugar. Those small sacks at the front of the cart contain herb mix, ready-made."

"Wait…nug blood? Tomatoes?"

"Nug blood is an essential part of the sauce," Thirin informed him. "If you're too _squeamish_ to eat it, then make you and the other humans some sauce _without _it. The nug blood comes from the _nugs_, by the way, not the _sacks_." Thirin jabbed the side of his head with his finger, indicating that Fletcher should think for himself.

"Fair enough," Fletcher answered, hoping to placate the belligerent dwarf. "But tomatoes? Aren't they poisonous? They're part of the nightshade family."

"One of your _medical _books tell you that, did they?" scoffed the dwarf as he walked over to the cart and ripped open a sack of small, round red fruits. He took one and bit into it, its juices running out of his mouth onto his beard. "One of the finest discoveries I made since coming to the surface," he confided in Fletcher, passing him a tomato, which Fletcher eyed warily. "We used to get 'em brought in to Orzammar, but they ain't the same; too cold in the Frostbacks. Ever tried one?"

"Well, no; I've always been led to believe they were poisonous. I use belladonna and mandrake in some of my crafting and they all come from the same family."

"You eat potatoes, don't you?" Thirin asked. "Which family d'you think _they_ come from?"

"Well, you've got me there," laughed Fletcher, glancing at the tomato. "Really? You _eat_ these?"

"Go on, take a bite," challenged the dwarf as he polished off his own tomato.

Fletcher gulped; he'd been warned ever since he was a child not to eat tomatoes, and that he could expect choking and violent stomach cramps at the very least if he did. Was that a fallacy, or were dwarves immune to the poison? His eyes wandered over to Anders, who was building the spit with Sebastian, and consoled himself that he had an excellent healer to hand should his throat close up. He then glanced over at Fenris, who was helping the humans to tidy up, and decided he'd better be quick before Fenris noticed what he was doing and stepped in.

Taking a deep breath, he raised the shiny fruit to his mouth, ignoring Thirin's rumbling laugh. He squeezed his eyes closed and bit into the soft flesh, doing his best to ignore the slimy, gelatinous texture as he swallowed his mouthful.

"Hey, you didn't spit the seeds out," Thirin observed approvingly.

"Was I supposed to?" asked Fletcher in a panic.

"No! It's just that most people do when they first try 'em. You gonna eat the rest of it?"

Fletcher sniffed the tomato and felt a fragrant, slightly acidic taste linger in his mouth. He took a second bite, this time cautiously chewing it. "That's…actually not too bad," he remarked.

"Thirin! Aren't you done, yet?" bawled Bartrand from the far end of the chamber.

"Keep your sodding hair on!" Thirin shouted back. "You got that, then?" he said to Hawke. "Make a sauce out of that lot."

"But what quantities do I use?"

"Twenty-seven people…let's say half a sack of tomatoes, a quarter sack of onions, a plum apiece – take the stones out first - a mug each of herb mix, vinegar and sugar; a fist of butter and enough flour to thicken it. As much blood as you can get out of the nugs. Make the sauce nice and thick, or you'll get it thrown back at you."

Fletcher repeated the instructions under his breath, committing them to memory. "But how do I-"

"I gotta go. You'll figure it out." Thirin walked off, leaving Fletcher scratching his head.

"Hey, Fenris," he called, beckoning the elf over. "Fancy giving me a hand with chopping some vegetables?"

"If you wish," said Fenris, dusting his hands off. Fletcher led him to the cart and together they gathered the required ingredients and found some utensils and a large pot.

"Well, at least they brought these," said Fletcher as they sat on the ground. "Guess what? _I _just impressed one of the dwarves," he boasted, puffing his chest out.

"Good for you," replied Fenris, examining one of the tomatoes. "What is this?"

"A tomato. Have you never seen one before? They're a dwarven delicacy. That's how I impressed Thirin: by eating one."

Fenris sniffed the fruit and placed it on a block of wood on the ground, where he began chopping. "The dwarf is easily pleased, it would seem."

"He is," laughed Fletcher. "I just have the rest of them to win over. What do you think my chances are?"

"Slim," smiled Fenris. "But if anyone can do it, you can. You're a very charming man."

Fletcher snorted quietly, feeling heat in his cheeks. "I don't think dwarves can be won over by _charm_. Shouting, bravery or reckless stupidity seems to impress them more than anything."

"Well, you have at least one of those qualities in abundance," the elf remarked dryly.

"Would you care to expand on that, _partner_?"

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say," answered Fenris with a small smile.

"I see. And how would you like to take onion duty?"

"I cannot do that. Elves are allergic to onions."

Fletcher laid down his knife and folded his arms. "Well, that's funny. I distinctly remember Merrill eating onion soup at the Hanged Man a while back. She _loves _onion soup."

Fletcher looked askance at the elf as he wriggled slightly. "I meant…in their raw form," Fenris amended shiftily.

"She had _raw_ onion on a salad."

"Well, she_ is_ Dalish," Fenris answered immediately, his hand stilled on his knife. "They are more attuned to nature, from what I hear."

"Oh, I see your logic," Fletcher answered seriously. "They're more attuned to nature, therefore they're more attuned to onions?"

"Something like that," Fenris mumbled, betrayed by a quiet snigger that escaped his mouth.

"Nice try, Elf." Fletcher plonked half a dozen onions in front of Fenris. "Now get chopping. You're becoming really sneaky lately, you know that?"

"And where do you suppose I learned _that_ from?" asked Fenris cheekily.

"Hmm…you have a point there," mused Fletcher as Fenris passed three onions back to him.

"You are jointly responsible for my newfound sneakiness, so get chopping yourself," teased Fenris, smiling.

Fletcher returned his smile, and they set about their monotonous task. "Fenris…may I ask you something?" he enquired after a lull.

"Of course."

Fletcher set his knife down again and sighed. "Why didn't you defend yourself when Bartrand insulted you?"

"_Did_ he insult me?" asked the elf, also laying his knife down. "His words meant nothing to me. I was not offended."

"Well, I think he _did _insult you," answered Fletcher, "and_ I_ was offended. I don't get it…if he'd said something similar to me, you would have been all over him."

"That is different," said Fenris quietly.

"How?"

Fenris shifted his weight onto his side and faced Fletcher. "His words did not injure me. I will not make a spectacle of myself over the likes of Bartrand."

"Or is it that you think you don't_ deserve_ to be defended?" ventured Fletcher. "_Is_ that it what it is? Because you've defended me quite fiercely in the past, and yet when he said that to you, you just hung your head. I didn't like it," he said with anger in his voice. He glanced at Fenris, who was watching him apprehensively. "I didn't mean…I'm not angry with _you_. But I've seen it before…Anders has said a few things to you in the past, and Uncle Gamlen was quite rude to you on one particular occasion. I thought so, anyway."

"I was a guest in your Uncle's house, and it would not have been appropriate to talk back to him. Besides, it's my belief that he was concerned for you. He was quite right to question me; he knew nothing of me."

Fletcher sighed again. "I know, and appreciate, that you're very well-mannered; that's one of the reasons Mother likes you so much. But there's a difference between being respectful and being _submissive._ I hate seeing you just _accepting_ it when someone insults you. What about that dwarf, Reijyr? He called you a knife ear. That's about the most insulting thing anyone can say to an elf. How can you accept that?"

Fenris was silent for a while as he considered Fletcher's words. "When I resided in Minrathous, it was required that I say nothing unless spoken to. And then, when I escaped, I lived among the Fog Warriors for a time." He paused, lowering his eyes, and Fletcher placed his hand on the elf's arm.

"Fenris, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"No, it's fine. Who else can I talk to about this but my confidante?" He forced a smile for Fletcher's sake, but Fletcher, cursing himself for making Fenris re-live painful memories, couldn't return it.

"When I…parted company with the Fog Warriors, I went on the run. I became accustomed to not drawing attention to myself. It is a hard habit to break. And I have endured far greater hardships than mere name-calling."

"I know." Fletcher removed his hand from Fenris's arm and stared ahead. "I didn't mean to…I just…I _care_ about you. When I see you react like that – or _not _react – it makes me so angry. It makes me think that that's how you used to be, all of the time. I-I can't bear it."

"I would not see you distraught," Fenris said softly, "but I cannot change the way I…react to things. It is the way I am. I could not change that any more than you could change being the emotional, passionate man that you are."

Hearing the word _passionate _from Fenris caused Fletcher's stomach to clench, and he shifted closer to him. "I wouldn't change you for anything…it's just sometimes I get a glimpse into what your life used to be like – how you used to feel about yourself - and…it just kills me, Fen. You're so much better than that."

Fenris smiled kindly at him and once again took up his knife, and began to peel an onion. "Do not be troubled on my account. It is true; there was a time when I had no dreams, no aspirations. There was simply no point. But that time is no more. The life I have now is more than I could ever have hoped for or imagined. I…have you to thank for that."

"No." Fletcher placed his hand over Fenris's, halting the elf's movements. "You made all the choices, Fen. _You _created this life for yourself. Take some credit for what you've achieved."

"I do," Fenris answered quietly, his eyes moving to Fletcher's. "But without someone to share this life with, it is meaningless. I know how much you care for me. I have…wasted so much time."

Fletcher's mouth slowly opened, and his breath rushed out, his heart beating wildly. "Do you mean…?" He saw Fenris's eyes move behind him, and the elf cleared his throat.

"First nug's on the spit," Sheldon declared proudly, and then, realising he'd interrupted something, he backed away. "Erm…sorry."

"Thanks, Sheldon," Fletcher said with a faint sigh, biting back his frustration as he released Fenris's hand. "I suppose we'd better get this sauce done. What was I saying about no privacy?"

As Sheldon beat a hasty retreat, Fletcher continued to chop tomatoes, and Fenris returned to onion duty. "We will finish this conversation later," the elf promised without looking up.

"Yes, we will," Fletcher avowed, also concentrating on his task, but he knew the other man was smiling, as was he.

~o~O~o~

"Bartrand! Hold up a minute!" Varric grabbed his brother by the arm, stopping him.

"What is it? We've got _real _work to do here. Are you gonna help out, or are you too busy holding the humans' hands?"

"Just put a sock in it, Brother, and _listen_," said Varric tetchily. "You need to lay off Hawke and the other humans. You're expected to be a _leader. _A leader doesn't piss off half of his workers before the damned expedition has begun!"

"I got work to do!" barked Bartrand. "I don't have time for the humans and their _delicate sensibilities!_ You know as well as I do that they wouldn't get half the work of dwarves done. I _can't_ employ them in the tunnels; they'd hold the whole thing up!"

"I _know_ that, Brother, but just cut down on the whole rancorous bastard act! Okay…it's _not_ an act, but you know some of this Orzammar crowd would cut your balls off for want of a sovereign, don't you? You may find yourself in need of allies before this expedition's through."

"I didn't arrange this expedition to make _friends_, Varric; I arranged it to make coin, and lots of it. I don't need these people to like me, I just need 'em to do what I say and to make me rich, so spare me the lovey-dovey crap. Now sod off, if you got nothing else to say."

"Don't say I didn't warn you, Bartrand," Varric retorted. "And I _do_ have something else to say. If you know what's good for you, don't insult Hawke _or _the elf again. Neither of 'em needs protecting by me, but if you're not careful, you'll push 'em too far." Varric stood toe-to-toe with his brother and stared him down. "And I won't have you disgracing our house by dying from a sword or a staff up your ass, because that's what you're headed for."

"Don't tell _me _what's good for our house, _little _brother. You've been hanging around with those humans for too long, and you've lost sight of what's important."

"No, Brother," Varric answered. "I've _discovered _what's important. I hope you and your gold will be very happy together when you're an old man, 'cos that's all you'll have."

"Yeah, I hope so. Now piss off." Bartrand turned on his heel and charged up one of the tunnels leading off the chamber, leaving Varric staring after him, shaking his head. Turning away, he felt a slight vibration beneath his feet and wondered for a second if someone had annoyed Hawke again. Instead of subsiding, however, as Hawke's spell had, the vibration became a rumbling, and, at the far end of the chamber, the humans stopped what they were doing and Hawke and Fenris leapt to their feet.

"What's that, Varric?" Anders called to the dwarf, who gave an exaggerated shrug and turned back in the direction of the tunnel, just in time to see a huge cloud of dust coming from it as a thunderous _boom _shook the tunnel, reverberating through the entire chamber.

"Bartrand?" Varric cried, running to the tunnel. "Bartrand!"

"Varric! He's trapped!" shouted one of the dwarven workers from the tunnel, which was blocked by a pile of rubble and numerous small boulders.

"Brother! Can you hear me?" Varric called out, coughing as dust filled his mouth.

"We're here, Varric," Bartrand answered from the other side of the rubble, though his voice was barely audible. "Two of 'em got caught. I don't think they're gonna make it!"

"Fuck!" muttered Varric, and he ran to the mouth of the tunnel. "Hawke! Blondie!" he yelled, although the mages were already running over, along with Fenris and the rest of the humans.

Fletcher and Anders arrived first, and, when apprised of the situation, Fletcher wasted no time. "Form a line, two deep," he ordered. "Humans at the front. Start from the top of the pile and pass the boulders down the line. Fenris, you're at the rear; there'll be a lot of casting going on. Quickly!"

He, Anders, Sebastian and the taller humans made up the front of the line, and, working together, they made a hole in the top of the pile of rocks. "How bad, Bartrand?" Fletcher shouted.

"We got some injuries, here, but two of the men are _under_ the rocks," the dwarf told him quickly. "It's Vonim and Reijyr. I can see one of their legs sticking out…damnit!"

"What about the men with you? Are they all right?"

"They got the wind knocked out of 'em, and I think we got a couple of broken bones. But Vonim and Reijyr…hurry up!" he barked, panic in his voice.

"Right, double quick!" Fletcher commanded the men on his side of the collapse. The able men on Bartrand's side assisted, pushing against the heavier boulders to loosen them. After what seemed an age, Anders and Fletcher were finally able to climb over the rocks to tend to the injured men on the other side, leaving the rest of the workers to clear the remaining boulders.

As they completed their healing, the two trapped workers were pulled out of the rubble. "Somebody fetch us some lyrium potions!" Anders yelled, and, from the back of the line, Fenris nodded and ran over to the far side of the chamber to find Fletcher's supplies.

"I think we can save Vonim," Anders spluttered through the heavy cloud of dust, making a quick determination of the dwarves' conditions, "but I don't think there's much hope for Reijyr."

"Can you manage, Anders? We _have_ to try," Fletcher urged, leaning over Reijyr.

"Yes, I'll let you know if I need any help. Everyone stand back! I need to restart his heart."

A blinding flash and an arc of lighting lit up the tunnel, followed by another, as Anders attempted to shock Vonim's heart into beating. "Got him!" Anders called out. "Where's that lyrium? How's Reijyr?"

"His throat's crushed," Fletcher answered, his voice shrill with panic. "It's collapsing faster than I can heal it! Come on! Come on, Reijyr!"

"Lyrium!" one of the humans called out, and four bottles were passed up the line to Hawke, who in turn passed two to Anders. Anders drank both of them and started to mend Vonim's broken bones. "Drink, Hawke! How's he doing?"

Fletcher downed one of the lyrium potions and wiped dust and sweat from his brow. "His skull and windpipe are crushed…multiple fractures…can't make him breathe…I don't know what to deal with first!"

"Is he bleeding?"

"No, not that I can see," answered Fletcher.

"Breathing first," Anders directed. "Just concentrate on that. I know you're doing your best, Hawke. Keep going! I'll be with you soon!"

Fletcher suspected it was hopeless, but he appreciated Anders's confidence and direction, and he continued relentlessly plugging away at the catastrophically-injured Reijyr.

A gasp was heard from Anders's location, and Anders called for water as Vonim came to. "What the hell?" shouted the confused dwarf. "Get your sodding hands off of me, Mage!"

"Lie the fuck down!" growled one of the other dwarves. "He just saved your life. You'd better do what he says."

"Anders! I need some help!" Fletcher called, his voice shaking with the strain of casting.

"Keep an eye on him, and give him a few sips of water," Anders directed one of the dwarves, shoving a borrowed waterskin into his hand. The dwarf immediately knelt down next to Vonim and did as Anders ordered.

Arriving next to Fletcher and Reijyr, Anders conducted his own examination of the stricken dwarf while Fletcher continued casting.

"Hawke…I don't think we can do anything for him," Anders said softly.

"No! I just saw his eye flicker!"

"It's just a reflex, Hawke. You know that."

"We can't just give up on him! Are you going to help, or not?"

"All right, Hawke, he's your patient." Anders rolled up his sleeves and continued to work, knowing it was hopeless.

"His heart's stopped," Fletcher told him breathlessly. "Can you shock him?"

"All right, Hawke," Anders said again, his tone soothing, knowing that the less-experienced healer was panicking. As the cloud of dust began to clear, those further down the line could see the outline of the two mages bent over Reijyr, and they covered their eyes as Anders sent electricity into the dwarf's moribund heart.

"You want to stop, Hawke?" Anders asked when his spell proved unsuccessful.

Fletcher continued casting, his brow creasing with concentration as sweat trickled down his temples. "No…there must be something more we can do."

Anders placed a hand on Fletcher's arm and sighed. "Hawke, you've done a great job of healing his fractures. But the man's dead. There's nothing more we can do for him. Come on, I think you know that."

"But…" Fletcher paused, his posture sagging as he finally admitted to himself that the dwarf was gone.

"It's time to stop," said Anders softly. "You've done your best. Sadly, sometimes it's not enough."

"Shit," Fletcher whispered, and he slumped against the wall, exhausted. "Shit!"

Anders moved next to Fletcher and sat against the wall beside him as Sebastian, who stood nearby, said a few words for the fallen dwarf.

"Andraste, guide this man's friends in the coming days. Though they are stout of heart and body, lend them your strength." He stopped short of commending Reijyr to the Maker, knowing that the dwarves had their own way of honouring their dead. None of the dwarves reacted to his words, which, to Sebastian, was a good thing.

"Here, Hawke, drink this," Anders offered, passing him the remaining lyrium potion.

"No, I don't want it." Fletcher pushed Anders's hand away, his eyes fixed on the expedition leader.

"How did this happen, Bartrand?" he accused, his voice quaking with frustration and anger. "This is one of the very tunnels you and your men were supposed to shore up! Would you care to explain how it collapsed?"

"What?" Torbal, and a few other dwarves stepped forward. "You told us this tunnel was safe, Bartrand!" spat Torbal, while the other dwarves folded their arms, their demeanours hostile.

"This mage thinks I'm some kind of sodding miracle worker!" Bartrand defended as the small gang of dwarves moved closer to him. "You expected us to get two days' work done in one night! Well, no, we _didn't_ have time! Did you expect us to work through the night and all of the next day?"

"No! I expected you to manage your men and work in shifts! I offered to help you that day, _and _when we first arrived in here earlier, and you told us to sod off!" Fletcher blustered, spittle flying, as his depleted mana and the loss of his patient snapped his nerves. "And, if the tunnel wasn't finished, you never should have brought any men up here in the first place! Did this man have any family?" he demanded, pointing at Reijyr, and, when no one answered, his face reddened and he tried to push himself up, but was stopped by Anders. "Don't any of you _know? _What is this, a dwarven thing? What's wrong with you all?"

"He's got no mana," Anders explained.

"No, don't defend me, Anders! It's clear to me that gold and riches mean more to these men than their bloody lives! What the hell is wrong with you all?" he repeated.

Not easily offended, some of the dwarves stepped forward to pick up Reijyr's body. "Everyone out of this tunnel, now!" Torbal commanded with a black look at Bartrand. "You as well, humans." The sturdy dwarf assisted Anders in helping the weakened Fletcher to his feet, and eventually, the tunnel was cleared of personnel.

Fenris, who had heard the exchange from outside the tunnel, waited until Anders and Torbal had sat Fletcher against a wall before they went back to check on the injured men. "See if you can get him to drink this," Anders told Fenris, passing him a lyrium potion.

Fenris quietly walked over to Fletcher, who had been given some space by everyone on Anders's orders. Fenris sat upon the floor a few feet away from him, not knowing whether his company would be welcome or not, but he would offer it anyway. Knowing the kind of man Fletcher was, he suspected the mage would blame himself for the dwarf's death, and wanted to offer his counsel should Fletcher need it, even though Fenris didn't know what he could possibly say. And if Fletcher wanted to be silent, that was also fine, as Fenris himself felt a need to be next to him.

Although aware of Fenris's presence, Fletcher didn't speak to him for a while, and the elf waited patiently.

"Well, so much for not alienating the dwarves," Fletcher eventually mumbled.

"I don't think you did," Fenris answered.

"I more or less called them a load of greedy bastards while one of their men lay dead at my feet."

"They are probably aware of that fact, anyway," consoled the elf. "A dwarf would be the first to speak up, were they to disagree with someone."

"I suppose that's true," shrugged Fletcher.

"You fought valiantly to save his life. You should not censure yourself for an occurrence that was out of your control."

"He approved of the chalk," Fletcher said quietly, as if that explained his overwrought emotions.

"Yes, he did. Remember: were it not for your efforts in preparing for the expedition, many more would have perished. Perhaps not now, but at a later time. You should be proud of yourself. _I_ am proud of you."

Fletcher turned his head and looked dully at Fenris, who smiled encouragingly and passed Fletcher the lyrium potion. "Drink this. Regain your strength. Do not punish yourself."

Fletcher sighed and uncorked the bottle, staring at the luminescent blue liquid. "It's just hard when…I have all of these so-called _powers _and I still couldn't save him." With another sigh, he drank the potion and placed the bottle on the ground.

"You are just a man, Fletcher." Fenris rose and placed a hand on the mage's shoulder. "I will continue preparing the vegetables. I will even take full onion duty," he joked as Fletcher forced a grim smile. "Life must go on," Fenris added quietly, and turned away.

"I'll…just give me a few minutes. I'll be with you soon," said Fletcher, and Fenris turned back and nodded. "You-you called me Fletcher."

"I did." Fenris held his gaze for a moment before he turned and walked away. Fletcher joined him shortly after.

~o~O~o~

With the vegetables chopped and the plums stoned, the ingredients were put into a huge pot over a fire. Fletcher had no idea how the sauce should be prepared, so he just threw the lot in and hoped for the best. While he and Fenris took turns to stir the sauce, Sebastian walked over.

"The dwarves are going to inter Reijyr here," he informed them. "They found a small cavity at the end of one of the tunnels large enough to receive him. I thought I'd let you know in case you wanted to pay your respects."

"Oh, yes, of course." Fletcher and Fenris rose, and Fletcher doused the fire with some water.

Led by Sebastian, they made their way down one of the safe tunnels where they found a crowd gathered around the small hollow where Reijyr's body had already been covered with stones, brought from adjoining chambers and tunnels. The dwarves had wasted no time, and two of the dwarven stonemasons hewed rough cuboid blocks out of rocks with their axes, while another prepared a mixture of stucco from lime, sand – brought through from one of the carts - and water.

Slowly and carefully, the opening of the cavity was bricked up by the stonemasons amid respectful silence. To his complete shock, Fletcher, who had battled to save Reijyr's life, was invited to lay the last brick. He didn't feel worthy of such an honour but didn't want to cause offence by refusing. When the small tomb was finally sealed up, Thirin – the next oldest dwarf after Reijyr – stood before it and folded his hands over his belly.

"Embrace the Stone, Brother. You enrich It by returning home."

Thirin walked away, followed by the rest of the dwarves. The humans, unsure of what they should do, also followed. "What happens now?" Fletcher asked Varric.

"Well, if it's anything like my granddaddy's funeral, everyone has an almighty booze-up to honour the fallen."

To Fletcher's dismay, the booze-up turned into a full-blown party with singing and wrestling challenges, and, after having a quiet drink to Reijyr, he stepped out.

Fenris, who had watched Fletcher leave, allowed him some time alone before going after him. He found him sitting in a recess off the main chamber, next to the egress from the Deep Roads. Fletcher pushed himself to his feet as the elf entered, carrying a book under his arm.

"I know, I know…I'm breaking my own rule by not telling my partner where I was. I was just planning on having a ten-minute sulk. I was going to come back out in a bit."

"Are you all right?" asked Fenris.

Fletcher shrugged. "Yeah. I know I'm being rude."

"No one has said that. They are all too busy _honouring _their comrade, and doing so with great relish, it has to be said," the elf remarked with a small smile.

"What have you got there? Fancy a reading lesson?" Fletcher asked with a glance at Fenris's book.

Fenris took the book from under his arm and looked at it. "Not exactly. I know that you feel…disquieted by the dwarf's death. I cannot claim to know how you feel, nor do I have the words…I thought that perhaps this would serve as a distraction." He passed the book over to Fletcher, who turned it over and read the cover.

"Medicine in the Dark Ages?" he asked, an excited gleam in his eyes.

"Your sister said you would enjoy something like that. If it is not suitable…"

"No! No…it's just the kind of thing I like! You-you bought this for me?"

"I originally purchased it as a naming day gift, but I thought perhaps you might appreciate receiving it now." Fenris took a deep breath and stepped closer, placing his hand on the book. "Bethany also said I should write something inside. I did…with a little assistance from her, of course."

His smile threatening to split his face, Fletcher opened the front cover. There, in the top-left corner, Fenris had written in his very best handwriting, _From Fenris._

A lump came to Fletcher's throat and he closed the book, swallowing hard. "This-this is wonderful. Thank you."

"You are certain?"

"I'm certain." Fletcher closed the gap between the two of them, only the book separating them. "And _you're_ wonderful, Fen." Fletcher bent slightly and placed a soft kiss on the elf's cheek.

As he drew back, Fenris kept his hands on the book and gently removed it from Fletcher's grasp. The mage, slightly confused, watched as Fenris carefully placed it on the ground before straightening up.

"I have attempted to convince myself that you are a bad person," Fenris quietly confessed. "That you are immoral, corrupt, weak. I have tried so hard to distance myself from you, but when I do I feel an ache that can only be assuaged when I am in your company. You have passed every ridiculous test I have set you. You have shown, time and time again, that there is nothing but goodness in you, and what happened earlier is only the latest example."

Fenris moved closer to the stunned Fletcher and dipped his head momentarily before looking up to meet Fletcher's eyes. "I can stay away from you no longer. I do not _want _to stay away from you. I have _missed_ you. Will you still have me?"

"W-will I still…? Are you _crazy_?" Fletcher laughed as Fenris smiled shyly and placed his hands on the mage's arms.

"That sounds encouraging," Fenris also laughed, and, before he knew it, he was pulled into Fletcher's arms, his words stolen away by a deep, tender kiss.

Joy rose up inside of Fletcher as Fenris's arms wrapped around his back and he felt the elf lean into him. He was a blood mage. Fenris – who had more reason to distrust and shun blood mages than anyone – _knew _that.

Fenris _accepted _him. Maybe he even loved him.

As they broke the kiss, both of them laughing softly, Fenris was once again pulled against Fletcher as the mage enveloped him in a hug.

"I've missed you, too, Fen," he whispered against the elf's ear.


	51. Chapter 51

_Thank you to Mary, for everything, and to everyone who sent me supportive PMs and reviews. I'm back :-)_

~o~O~o~

When Fletcher and Fenris emerged from their hiding place, the drunken celebration of Reijyr's life was in full swing. A curious mood settled over Fletcher as they joined the others: he was elated that he and Fenris were, at least for now, together again, but part of him also felt deflated. He'd never attended a dwarven funeral before and watched in astonishment as the dwarves sang, laughed and bantered while they remembered their fallen friend. Something he found particularly distasteful was that Bartrand, who Fletcher felt was ultimately responsible for Reijyr's death, was drinking harder and singing louder than almost anyone else.

All the human funerals Fletcher had ever attended had been sombre, mournful affairs and it was strange for him to see such merriment. It did make him wonder if the dwarves had the right idea, but he found he was unable to share the dwarves' mirth, and, understanding this, Fenris found a relatively quiet corner for them to sit in while they watched the proceedings.

Fletcher also suspected that one kiss would not immediately solve everything between him and Fenris, but for the time being, he let it replay in his mind, not knowing when the next would be forthcoming.

Sensing that Fletcher was distracted, Fenris tapped the book Fletcher held and smiled at the mage. "Will you read to me?" he asked. "I would be interested to hear what holds such fascination for you within this book."

"Oh…really? You'd be interested in this?" Fletcher asked, surprised, and the elf nodded. Fletcher sat up and opened the book. "Well, do you remember when I was treating your foot and I told you that, in my grandparents' day, the standard treatment would have been for your foot to be cut off?"

"I do," Fenris replied, chuckling quietly at the memory.

"Well, this book is full of things like that: old-fashioned 'remedies' that, most of the time, did more harm than good. Many of them were practised by charlatans who preyed on the gullible and the desperate, and most of them charged a small fortune for their services. I'm amazed that some of them got away with it for so long."

"It sounds fascinating. Please proceed," said the elf, pleased at Fletcher's enthusiasm.

Grinning, Fletcher flicked through several pages before his eyes lit up. "Ah! I was hoping this would be in here. Wait 'til you hear this; you'll probably think I'm making it up. Only a couple of ages ago, it was believed that headaches were caused by evil spirits that resided in a person's head. There were few options available, most of which were herbal remedies that were meant to poison the spirit. Looking at some of the ingredients, I'm amazed they didn't poison the patient, instead. When – unsurprisingly – the herbal remedies didn't work, there was only one treatment left." Fletcher paused and laughed, shaking his head. "A hole was drilled into the patient's skull, thereby providing a means of escape for the 'spirit'."

"What?" Fenris leaned closer and frowned at the book. "You are having me on."

"I'm not! Look." Fletcher pointed at some of the illustrations, showing a human skull with several small holes on the crown. Fenris gaped at the picture and looked at Fletcher in disbelief.

"That seems rather a final cure for a headache," opined the elf. "I would imagine the patient would no longer be in a position to complain of discomfort, as they would be quite dead."

Fletcher shook his head and pointed at the illustration again. "Believe it or not, some survived the procedure, which was known as trepanning. This drawing is of a skull that was found with eleven holes in it. This person underwent the procedure eleven times before they died. It doesn't say whether or not the eleventh time actually killed them."

Fenris couldn't help but laugh derisively at this. "Let me guess. After the first procedure, the patient complained of even _more _intense headaches – presumably because they had a hole in their head – and the physician recommended they undergo the procedure again?"

"Precisely," Fletcher agreed.

"But what if the patient did not survive the first, or subsequent procedures?" asked the elf. "How would the physician explain that?"

"Easy," Fletcher answered. "Don't forget the 'evil spirit'. If a patient died, the physician would declare that the spirit in question was a _particularly_ evil one that overpowered the patient. If the patient survived, and, as you guessed, continued to suffer from headaches…"

"Then another spirit had taken residence?" Fenris guessed.

"You're getting the hang of this," chortled Fletcher, leafing through the book. "You'd make a fine quack doctor with a mind like that. Ah, here's another one: a cure for toothache. It was believed that toothache was caused by worms that lived inside the tooth, and the only way to lure them out was to hold a burning candle next to the mouth, where they would fall into a waiting glass of water, and drown."

"But would the patient not see these 'worms' when they left the mouth?" Fenris queried.

Fletcher rolled his eyes, feigning impatience. "No, of _course_ not! The worms were _invisible_."

Fenris dipped his head reverentially. "But of course. I am naught but a naïf in the face of your learned dictum."

"Thank you," replied Fletcher, dipping his head in return. "And I _totally_ know what you're going on about. Honestly, I do."

They laughed together, and Fletcher felt his spirits lift when Fenris asked for another story.

"Let's see…back in the Steel Age, every disease or affliction one could name was attributed to an imbalance of the _humours _of the body."

"Humours?"

"Blood, phlegm, yellow bile and black bile," Fletcher explained as Fenris wrinkled his nose. "Anything, from arthritis to insanity, could be explained by an excess or dearth of the four humours. For example, epileptic fits were supposedly caused by an excess of phlegm, which blocked the airways. The body would struggle to rid itself of the phlegm, hence the convulsions. There was a problem with this, however. The physicians of the day argued over what constituted a humour. Some believed that the four humours were blood, sweat, urine and vomit. Other insisted they were blood, urine, faeces and tears. All agreed that blood was a humour, though, and so the treatment of choice was bloodletting."

"And did that involve leeches, by any chance?" asked Fenris.

"Those that could afford it were bled by leeches, yes," Fletcher answered. "Anyone lower than minor nobility had to make do with a knife. Nobody realised the importance of sterilisation in those days, so, if they were lucky, they'd get a new or at least a clean knife. Peasants probably had to settle for a rusty or dirty blade. As you can imagine, many of the poor sods contracted nasty infections, which were treated by…?" He looked at the elf expectantly.

"_More_ bloodletting?"

"That's right. The infection and resulting fever were blamed on an overheating of the blood, and so more of it had to be removed from the body. If the patient's money had run out, they'd be chucked in an icy lake to cool down the blood."

"I cannot imagine many of the patients survived these…procedures," Fenris noted with a shake of his head.

"I know. I'm amazed that anyone lived long enough to actually write this," replied Fletcher, closing the book. "I'll read you some more, later, if you like. It looks like the food's nearly ready," he said with a glance over at Sheldon and Thirin, who had taken over the cooking in Fletcher's absence.

Sure enough, Thirin loudly announced that the meal of nug and sauce was ready. The workers brought their plates and a line quickly formed next to the spit. Varric, Torbal, Sebastian and Anders, who had been playing cards, joined the queue, standing next to their partners: Anders had teamed up with Varric, and Torbal with Sebastian. After fetching their own plates, Fenris and Fletcher stood at the end of the queue.

"That book's one of the best presents I've ever had," Fletcher whispered to the elf, discreetly holding his hand. "Thank you." Glancing around to ensure no one was watching, Fletcher placed a quick kiss on the elf's temple. Fenris fidgeted a little, also glancing around, but could not hide his smile, or the blush in his cheeks.

"Whaddya call _this_?" the jarring voice of Bartrand bellowed from the head of the line.

"Nug sauce, human style," Thirin answered with a rasping laugh.

"What, full of fucking lumps?" barked Bartrand.

Irritated, Fletcher stepped out of line and shouted, "It's full of lumps because you didn't give Thirin enough time to show me how to make it. Now, get a move on. We're all hungry back here."

"Yeah, hurry it up, Bartrand!" Torbal piped up. "And I happen to _like _it lumpy."

"So do I," growled Rasel, one of the dwarves injured in the collapse, though he seemed to say it mainly for the sake of disagreeing with Bartrand.

"Me too," Vonim, the dwarf Anders had saved, shouted up the line. "So pull your finger out of your ass, _Expedition_ _Leader_. I wanna have another drink to my _partner_, the one who _died _because of you!"

"If you lazy sods hadn't gotten drunk and fallen asleep, that tunnel would have been safe!" Bartrand bit back, pointing an accusing finger, and several humans jumped out of line as the _shink _of unsheathed weapons was heard.

"You fell asleep as well, you bastard!" Vonim accused and charged forward, twirling his glinting battle-axe in his hands.

With speed that belied his advancing years, Thirin leapt in between Bartrand and Vonim, brandishing his daggers. "Sauce is gettin' cold," he snarled. "Knock it off!"

"Outta my way, Thirin!" shouted Vonim as Torbal also inserted himself between the protagonists. "That nug-fucker insulted my house by insinuating that I'm a feckless drunkard!"

"We're _all_ feckless drunkards!" Torbal exclaimed with a laugh.

"I don't need you two defending me," Bartrand grunted, unsheathing his own axe.

"_Defending_ you?" Thirin scoffed. "I couldn't give a crap what he does to you. But I came here to earn coin, and, at the moment, you're the best one to lead us to it. What he does to you when we get _out _of here is his own business."

"I gotta have order," barked Bartrand, pushing past Thirin and Torbal. "Make way while I teach this upstart a lesson. Varric, Vonim just dishonoured House Tethras. Come and stand at your brother's side."

"Get outta here," drawled Varric, helping himself to some roast nug. "He didn't dishonour _anyone's_ house. Now, I'm sure ol' Reijyr and the paragons have had a good laugh at us all. Like Thirin said, the sauce is getting cold, and lumpier by the minute."

Several of the other dwarves started to become agitated as their bellies rumbled, while the humans looked on, bewildered. "This ain't over, Bartrand!" threatened Vonim, reluctantly stepping back into line.

"Here!" Thirin shoved a plate of nug into Bartrand's hands. "Take this and sod off. Looks like your brother's not gonna help you today."

"Figures," growled Bartrand with a filthy look at Varric, before he snatched the plate and stalked away, muttering to himself.

"Well, this expedition isn't going to be dangerous at _all_, is it?" Anders remarked aridly, while Fletcher sighed.

Once everyone had filled their plates, most sat around in small groups, while a few – mostly the Orzammar dwarves and Bartrand – sat alone. Fenris and Fletcher joined Varric, Sebastian, Anders and Torbal. Fletcher carefully watched for reactions when the dwarves sampled his nug sauce.

A few grimaces were observed, but, to Fletcher's relief, no one threw the sauce back at him as Thirin had warned might happen.

"Hey, Human! Good job with the sauce!" shouted Gaar, one of the surface dwarves. "Lotsa nice chewy clots in it, just like my momma used to make!"

"Yeah, they make it too sodding smooth nowadays," said his partner, Durdat.

"Clots?" exclaimed Aston, one of the human workers, eyeing his spoonful in horror. "As in blood clots? There's _blood _in this?"

"It's actually quite nice," Fletcher commented, smacking his lips as sauce dribbled down his chin. "Just leave the clots on the side if you don't like them."

"I thought they were bloody raisins or something!" Anders spluttered, spitting out his mouthful.

"Hey, Blondie, don't let your clots go to waste!" Varric joked, holding out his plate. "Send 'em over here!"

"You may have mine as well, Varric," offered Sebastian, before Torbal thrust his plate under the archer's chin.

"Hands off, Tethras! Partners, remember?" teased the dwarf.

"My humble apologies, _partner_," Sebastian said with a laugh, and spooned the dark red lumps onto Torbal's plate, before clearing his throat and pushing himself to his feet. "Um, if I might have everyone's attention?" Sebastian called out in a clear voice, and the expedition workers glanced up. "Now that we're all a little more relaxed, I thought I'd take the opportunity to introduce myself. My name is Sebastian Vael, and I hail from the principality of Starkhaven." He bowed to the group.

"The _Chantry_ boy, huh?" snorted Rasel, and some jeers sounded, but Sebastian was undaunted.

"That is correct, Ser Dwarf," he replied with a smile. "Our beliefs may differ, but I am certain we can all coexist peacefully, and I look forward to becoming better acquainted with you all." He bowed again and sat down, amid a few jibes.

"That was very brave of you," Fletcher whispered, his eyes moving to Fenris as the elf stood up in support of his friend.

"I am Fenris. As you can see, I am an elf, but do not let your perceptions of _other _elves you may have encountered fool you." Mocking laughter sounded around the group, mainly from the dwarves, but Fenris waited, his expression unchanged, until near-quiet descended. "I carry a sword and be in no doubt that I know how to _use_ it. I also have…_other_ abilities," he added enigmatically and, for a split second, his markings flickered. Noticing that most of the workers' mouths had gaped open, and that the laughter had stopped, he continued. "Treat my friends with respect, and you will never discover what those abilities are. Treat them with scorn, however, and I will be pleased to educate you. Enjoy your food." He bowed, and sat upon the ground, where Fletcher and Varric's sniggers rose above the absolute silence that followed Fenris's introduction.

"Retaliation is not _always_ necessary," Fenris said to Fletcher, and the mage grinned widely at him.

Torbal shuffled closer to the elf and extended his hand. "Glad to know you, _Fenris_," he said, pronouncing the elf's name correctly. "I can assure you that _I_ will treat you and your friends with _nothing_ but respect," he joked as Fenris clasped his hand. The corpulent dwarf then puffed as he pushed himself to his feet.

"The name's Torbal, of House Barakar," he announced, slightly out of breath.

"Yeah, we all know who _you _are!" shouted Thirin.

"Shut the hell up," Torbal retorted with a grin. "It takes a lot of effort to haul an ass like mine up, so you're gonna bloody well listen. Any interruptions, and I start from the top. I'm here all night."

Torbal proceeded to tell the group most of his life story, and, following Sebastian's example, many others did the same. Bartrand didn't stand up, nor did some of the dwarves, but all of the humans did except one, who Fletcher had been told was mute and kept to himself, but was a good worker nonetheless. After making their introductions, some of the humans drifted over to Fletcher's group and dined with them. Fletcher and Anders knew a few of them, as they'd previously resided in Darktown. By the time the meal was finished, the mood among the entire group was more relaxed and jovial.

That didn't last for long, however. After a few more drinks were had for Reijyr, the plates and mugs were cleared away and washed up by Fletcher and a few of the other humans – who were quite happy to do domestic chores provided they were paid their fair share – and work on the collapsed tunnel was re-started. This time, though, some of the dwarves questioned Bartrand, and a few others openly defied his orders. It wasn't until Thirin, the oldest dwarf who seemed to command respect from most of his brothers, stepped in, that the dwarves settled down and resumed work. Thirin then berated Bartrand for losing the respect of his workers and a blazing row followed, which was eventually broken up by Varric.

"You told me _you_ knew a dwarf once, Anders," Fletcher said to his fellow mage as they placed wards at the entry points of the chamber in readiness for the night ahead. "What was he like?"

"Just like this lot," Anders replied with a shrug. "His name was Oghren. The first day I met him, he told me he was a fighter, a farter and a fucker. He wasn't lying. Except for the fucking bit; I can't say I was witness to that, which is a blessing. He did manage to produce a son, though…somehow," he added with an exaggerated shudder.

"Any tips for getting along with dwarves?" asked Fletcher, noticing that Anders seemed a little distracted.

"They're a pretty resilient bunch. You can call them every name under the sun, but whatever you do, don't insult their ancestors, the paragons, and _Maker_, don't badmouth their family or their house. Funny thing with dwarves. They'll take all kinds of insults from other races, but _between _dwarves, the most innocuous comment can be taken as a slight against their house. As you saw earlier, that never goes down well." Anders turned towards Fletcher, but focused on the wall. "Dwarves aren't a bad bunch, though. They're not pretty, and they don't smell too sweet, but, once you befriend one, they'll fight your corner to the bitter end. One can't have too many dwarven friends, I say. They're all right."

Fletcher nodded, and they completed their casting. "How are you feeling about being down here, Anders?" he asked as they took a slow walk back to the main group.

"I'm fine at the moment; we're not very far in. I can't sense any darkspawn, so everything's peachy. Once I do, though – and I _will _at some point – well, I did warn you. There may be some nightmares. Thanks for warning them about that, by the way."

"Anders, I said this to Fenris and I'll say the same to you. If anyone has any smart comments to make, then I'll put them straight. I'm sure most of the dwarves are aware that Grey Wardens have nightmares, anyway."

Anders frowned slightly and then gave Fletcher a peculiar look. "Right, thanks," he mumbled before moving away from Fletcher.

"_Now_ what's the matter?" Fletcher demanded, his irritation at Anders's erratic responses clear in his voice.

Anders halted. "What do you mean?"

Fletcher caught up and stood in front of him. "This is getting tiresome, Anders. You've been off with me for a while, now. Earlier, when we were in the tunnel, it was…I felt like we were working together, you know? I really appreciated the support you gave me and how you kept your head. But now…you're like a different person. Why are you being so distant? What have I done?"

Anders's breath caught and Fletcher glimpsed a fleeting sadness in his eyes. "Nothing. You-you haven't done anything wrong. I'm sorry. Just…take no notice of me."

As Anders turned away, Fletcher touched his arm, aware that Fenris was watching them from a short distance away. "Anders…tell me what's wrong, please. I feel like I've done something to upset you. If it's not that, what is it?"

"I'm just being stupid," Anders answered lightly, but Fletcher shook his head, not fooled at all. Anders sighed and tightened his ponytail, looking at the ground. "I've been behaving like an idiot," he admitted. "It's not your fault…I just worry about you. I'm going to back off a bit, give you some space. I can see that things between you and Fenris are getting better. I…you're a grown man and you have your own mind; you don't need me telling you that you're making a mistake." Seeing Fletcher's frown, he held his hand up. "It's none of my business. I just want you to know that I'll always be here for you if you need me."

Fletcher groaned in exasperation, both annoyed and saddened. "I _know _you are, Anders. I just wish you could be happy for me. Things _are _going well between Fenris and I, and it would be nice to know that we're not going to be kicking each other's arses over it."

"Like I said, Hawke, I'm not saying anything else," Anders replied with a shrug.

"You still managed to mention the fact I was _making a mistake _while you were busy telling me you're not going _say anything else_, though, didn't you?" accused Fletcher.

The look of sadness came into Anders's eyes again, temporarily rendering Fletcher speechless, as he was at a complete loss. "You're right, Hawke. I don't want us to fight. I'm…I'm going to check the wards."

"They don't _need _checking, Anders; we've only just set them!"

"I just like to make sure," Anders mumbled, his shoulders slumped as he walked over to the nearest tunnel entrance.

Fletcher watched him for a moment, and then shook his head, turning away. "I give up," he muttered under his breath before walking over to join Fenris.

"Everything all right?" asked the elf, looking up from Fletcher's farmyard animal book, his eyes flitting over to Anders for a second.

Fletcher sat heavily on the ground and started to rifle through his pack. "Fine. How are you getting on with your book?"

When Fenris didn't answer immediately, Fletcher glanced up to see that Fenris was now staring at Anders, who stood at the far end of the chamber, alone. "Is he…talking to himself?" Fenris asked, not trusting his own eyes.

Fletcher sighed softly and returned his attention to his pack, removing several small phials, bottles and wrapped items. "Mm. I think he's talking to Justice. He does that, sometimes. You didn't answer my question; how's the book?" he asked, hoping to change the subject.

"Well, um…see for yourself," Fenris said, inching a little closer. As Fletcher looked through the book, his smile grew wider and wider with every page. Fenris had copied the names of each animal in a spidery hand, using a small stick of charcoal. "I hope you do not mind me writing in the book," the elf said, slightly nervously. "I wanted to surprise you."

"Mind?" Fletcher's eyes moved to Fenris's, and the delighted look on the mage's face set Fenris's mind at ease. "This is just…I'm so proud of you, Fen. What did I tell you? I knew you'd find this easy. You've taken to it like a duck to water."

Fenris returned Fletcher's smile, his expression a combination of embarrassment and pride. Both men's stomachs tightened as their eyes lingered on the other, but, aware that they were surrounded by many others, they settled for discreetly holding hands.

"Ducks quack, by the way," Fletcher informed him.

"Forget it," Fenris laughed, snatching his hand away. "For the last time, I am_ not_ going to make animal noises!"

"One day you will," mumbled Fletcher.

"I will _not_."

Fletcher nodded silently, and Fenris's smile changed to a mock-scowl. Fletcher sniggered and removed the last few items from his pack.

"What have you there?" Fenris enquired.

"Oh, just something I'm working on; something new. I've been meaning to work on it for a while, now, but I haven't had time. I _have_ done a lot of research on it, though, and I think I might be onto something."

Intrigued, Fenris craned his neck for a better look at the array of ingredients. "What is it? A potion? A weapon coating?"

"More a lotion than a potion, really," said Fletcher. "I have the base already made." He passed Fenris a small jar and invited him to inspect the contents. Fenris opened it and smoothed a little of the ointment onto his hand, massaging it in, and he nodded approvingly. "I just need to work on the active ingredients," Fletcher finished.

"What will it be used for?" Fenris asked.

"It's a secret."

Pretending to ignore the fact Fenris had moved even closer, Fletcher busied himself with his creation, and had to quell his laughter, knowing very well that Fenris would eventually wrest the information out of him.

"You can tell _me_, can't you?" Fenris coaxed in a sultry whisper that made Fletcher's insides quiver. "I _am _your confidante, after all…not to mention, your partner."

"Don't think you can beguile _me_, Elf, with your sexy voice," teased Fletcher, and Fenris snorted as laughter rushed out of him.

"Just an intimation?" asked the elf.

Fletcher firmly shook his head, and began to crush a small, orange, precious stone in his pestle and mortar.

"What is that?"

"Secret."

Fenris huffed and pushed to his feet. "Keep your secrets, then, Mage," he joked. "I am going to train." He picked up his sword and moved a few feet away from Fletcher, where he began some basic defensive stances. Fletcher did his best to concentrate on his work, but, after a while, he was unable to take his eyes off the fluid, graceful movements of the elf as he switched from stance to stance with consummate ease.

"Stop that," Fletcher remonstrated. "You're putting me off."

"That is hardly _my _fault," said the elf, raising his sword above his head and holding it, with one hand, in a perfect horizontal line, his other arm held out to his side for balance. "Most mages, in my experience, pride themselves on their powers of concentration."

"Yes, but _most mages _don't have a scandalously handsome elf contorting and stretching his body in front of them while swishing a massive sword through the air! I'm only a man, Fenris, just like you said."

This time, Fenris's concentration broke as he bent slightly at the waist, his slender body shaking with quiet laughter, and he lowered his sword. "Tell me your secret, then, and I will desist."

Fletcher gave a dramatic sigh, and considered asking Fenris to continue with his training, but didn't want to appear too lecherous. "Oh, all right, then."

Fenris immediately ceased his movements and placed his sword on the ground. He then went and sat next to Fletcher, where he watched the mage with a triumphant smile.

Fletcher tutted but was unable to stop his grin from breaking through. "I'll tell you, but don't get your hopes up; I don't even know if this will work." Seeing that he had the elf's full attention, he went on. "Well, I'm going to try to make something that will help you when Anders and I are casting."

"Help me? How?" asked Fenris, fascinated.

"Anders and I can make all kinds of creams, ointments and so on. Some of them are barrier creams, which protect the skin from moisture, for example, or heat or cold. You know what I mean, Fen; you used to make your own ointment for your foot." Fenris nodded, his brow wrinkling a little. "Well, I want to make a barrier cream that will repel magic, or at least its effects."

"Is that even _possible_?" Fenris asked.

"I don't know, but I'm going to try," Fletcher replied. "On paper, it should be easy, but it's a very complicated formula, with dozens of ingredients. And the more ingredients, the more chance of one of those ingredients reacting badly with another. It won't be made overnight, I can tell you; it could take months, even years, but if it _is _possible, I'll get it eventually."

"You could make an absolute fortune," Fenris exclaimed in a whisper. "You could write a paper, become famous."

Fletcher looked confused for a moment. "But I'm not making it for anyone else. I'm making it for _you_. If it happens to benefit anyone else, then they can have the recipe."

Fenris lowered his head, warmth spreading through his belly. "I…should have expected that answer," he murmured, raising his head, a gentle smile lighting up his face.

Fletcher briefly smiled back at him, but then turned his attention back to his task, because Fenris's smile had a very distracting effect on him, and Fletcher's desire to grab Fenris's face and devour his mouth would have to be delayed. He glanced up at the other workers as they pottered about, and sighed inwardly, wondering if he and Fenris would _ever_ have any privacy.

"I'm working on something else, as well, which should hopefully be easier than the Mystical Magic Repelling Cream," he grinned, producing a small pot of pale blue balm. "This is a variation on a cooling balm, which is used to soothe burns," he explained. "I'm working on a version that is resistant to water. Hopefully that will be of use to you, as well."

Fenris shuffled closer to Fletcher so that their legs were touching, and cocked his head, examining the pot. "In what way?"

"Well, it would mean you could bathe in warm water. It'll get bloody cold in here the further in we go, and you can't be bathing in cold water; you'll catch your death. The only problem I have is in deciding whether to craft a water-resistant version, or one that will leave a lasting effect on your skin…" Fletcher paused as a small hand snaked along his arm and up to his shoulder, coming to rest against his face, where Fenris spread his fingers and caressed Fletcher's cheek.

"You are the kindest man I have ever known," Fenris whispered softly. "I…cannot find the words." He lowered his eyes and smiled broadly.

"Oh, don't thank me, Fen," Fletcher whispered back, his heart swelling at Fenris's smile. "I love a little project. Perhaps you'd care to assist me?"

The elf nodded and slowly withdrew his hand, clasping both of them in his lap. "Of course. What should I do?"

"Nothing, really; I'd just need to borrow your arm now and again to try out my concoctions. I won't use anything that would hurt you, and I'll always ask; I would never do anything without your permission. You know that, don't you?"

"I know that, Fletcher," he reassured softly, and both men looked up as yet another squabble between two of the dwarves broke out. They watched until the disagreement had been resolved. "You cannot concentrate here," said the elf, and he picked up Fletcher's pack, holding it open. "Place your ingredients in here. We will find you somewhere more peaceful."

Fletcher complied and re-filled his pack, and the two men stood up. "Where did you have in mind?" Fletcher asked.

"Where I gave you the book," Fenris decided, walking ahead. "It is large enough for you to work in, and you should not be disturbed."

"You just want to get me on my own again, don't you?" asked Fletcher from behind.

"Well, that goes without saying," was the elf's quiet reply as he continued on, leaving Fletcher slack-jawed and speechless, before he giggled like a naughty child and scampered after the elf, and they reached the mouth of the small recess together.

"After you," Fletcher invited the elf.

"No. After _you_. I insist."

Fletcher slowly entered the tiny chamber, watching Fenris suspiciously. "Don't get ogling my bottom, Elf."

"Don't flatter yourself, Mage," smiled Fenris, and Fletcher laughed as he sat upon the ground and Fenris joined him. Fletcher placed his arm around Fenris's shoulder and they sat back against the wall, just looking around for a while.

"We could sleep in here, you know," Fletcher suggested casually.

"Could we?"

"Oh, I didn't mean-" Fletcher hastily removed his arm from around Fenris's shoulder. "I meant…I wasn't suggesting anything…you know…"

"Weren't you?" Fenris asked without accusation.

"No, really…I just thought…well, things have been a bit rough between us lately, and it would be nice for me to be able to put my arm around you or kiss you without worrying about how many people are watching us."

Fenris took Fletcher's arm and placed it over his shoulder again. "I do not want you to think that I am ashamed of being seen with you. It's not that; I just…"

"I know. You don't like drawing attention to yourself. I understand." He kissed the elf's cheek and smiled at him.

"You are the first person in my life who _has_ understood me," said the elf quietly. "The first who has even tried. It could not have been easy for you."

"It was worth every second," whispered Fletcher, nuzzling his nose into Fenris's hair. "I…love you, you know."

Fletcher saw the elf's eyes close and felt his body tighten against him as Fenris held his breath. He also felt Fenris's hand fold around his and hold onto to it for dear life, but the elf didn't speak. For several minutes, they sat in silence, and Fletcher wondered if anyone had ever told Fenris that he was loved, and how his confession would make him feel.

"Why don't you go and finish your training, I'll get cracking on my crafting, and, when we're finished, we'll bring the bedrolls up here and make ourselves cosy?" Fletcher suggested.

Fenris released his hand, nodded and slowly stood up, facing Fletcher but not quite looking at him. "Yes, I would like that. And, when we do, I would like us to…talk. About our future. If…you are willing?"

"Of course, Fen," Fletcher nodded quickly, and his voice was light, but his stomach lurched, wondering what Fenris meant by that.

The elf also nodded, and went over to the entrance. "I will return later." His eyes moved to Fletcher's, and a hint of a smile appeared, before he turned and left.

Fletcher began to unpack his ingredients again, and considered Fenris's words. Not so long ago, he would have worried that he'd shown his feelings too soon, but he didn't believe that was the case now. Fenris must know how he felt about him. It seemed more likely that Fenris didn't quite know how to respond, and Fletcher told himself he mustn't pressure the elf to reciprocate his feelings, particularly as Fletcher was almost certain Fenris _did _reciprocate them_._

A little later, after saying goodnight to Varric and Co., Fletcher and Fenris took their bedrolls and blankets down to their sleeping place. Fletcher had created a small fire outside for warmth, and they made themselves comfortable; when lying down, they would both fit quite snugly into the small recess.

For now, though, they sat against the wall with their legs stretched out, and, after a little banter and discussion of the day's events, Fenris grew quiet and his expression turned serious.

"Do you want to talk?" Fletcher asked.

Fenris sighed and clasped his hands together in a gesture that Fletcher was starting to recognise; Fenris did it when feeling awkward or nervous. Although apprehensive of what the elf was going to say, Fletcher relaxed his own posture, wanting Fenris to feel at ease.

"I would never presume to _demand _anything of you," the elf began uncertainly, and Fletcher nodded. "However, there is something I must ask. I…appreciate that with your status as a blood mage," he gave Fletcher an almost apologetic look, "well, you are unlike others of your kind, in that you do not embrace or take pride in that status." Fenris paused, then, and Fletcher waited for him to continue. The elf took a deep breath and looked directly into Fletcher's eyes. "I must ask that you _never_ use blood magic again."

"Fenris, I have no intention-"

"Please forgive me, but I _must_ say this, make myself clear," the elf interrupted tautly, and Fletcher could tell by his hand-wringing that he was very nervous indeed. "I could not bear it…if I were to witness such a thing from you…it would be too much. I apologise. I know that you have already assured me of this, but this is of utmost importance to me. I hope you understand." Fenris hung his head, bracing himself for an angry reaction. Instead, Fletcher sighed and touched Fenris's face, gently pushing his head up.

"Fen…if I needed another reason not to use it again – which I don't – then that would be it. I would never subject you to that. And now, you have made it clear to me what I stand to lose should I break my promise to you. You and I have been through too much to be together, and I am _not _going to lose you." Fletcher brought his face closer to Fenris's and waited until the elf looked into his eyes. "Fenris, I will _never _use blood magic again. I give you my word."

Fenris closed his eyes and exhaled, slowly nodding his head. "I'm sorry-"

"Shh. You needed to ask, and you've asked. This is a partnership, Fen, which both of us will have to work at, and that means _talking_. The bad news is, although it's been a rough ride getting here, it doesn't get any easier."

Fenris glanced up, and, seeing that Fletcher was smiling, he snorted quietly and leaned against the mage, resting his hand on Fletcher's stomach. "It was worth every second," he said, echoing Fletcher's words from earlier.

"It was, wasn't it?" Fletcher pulled Fenris close and kissed the tip of his nose as he stroked his hair. "This is just the beginning for us, Fen. All of the crap is out of the way, now, and this is where we start being _happy_."

He felt Fenris slump a little, and held his breath, waiting for the elf's next question.

"Is there nothing that can be done? About your…_contract_?"

"Nothing," Fletcher answered quietly.

"Then we must make the most of every moment we have together," said the elf breathlessly, wrapping his arms around Fletcher and pressing his body against the mage's, passionately kissing Fletcher's neck.

Shocked and slightly uncomfortable at Fenris's sudden and uncharacteristic fervour, Fletcher gently pushed the elf away, stroking his arms, suspecting that Fenris was not ready for what he was offering. "We will, Fen, but let's take things slowly. We'll know when the time is right, okay?"

He felt Fenris's tight grip on him loosen, and they sat quietly for a while.

"No doubt you are right," the elf said, uncertainty in his voice. "You usually are."

"Now _that_ doesn't sound like stubborn old Fenris," Fletcher said lightly, ignoring the fluttering in his stomach.

"I am working on our partnership," Fenris replied, smiling awkwardly.

"I'm not always right," Fletcher admitted, "but when I get things right, I get things right. You're just about the best thing that's ever happened to me, Fen."

"As are you, Fletcher."

"What, _I'm _the best thing that's ever happened to me?"

"Fletcher?"

"Yes?" he sniggered.

"Shut up and kiss me."

"All right. For the sake of working on our partnership, I'm willing to ignore your bossiness and-" Fletcher closed his eyes and surrendered himself as Fenris captured his lips, and they gently pulled apart, noses still touching, and they leaned back a little, finding comfortable positions.

"Now, go to sleep. You need your rest," directed Fenris.

"Ah, I see how this _partnership _is going to work. You tell me what to do, and I do it," laughed Fletcher, resting his head on the elf's shoulder.

"That's about it, yes."

Fletcher yawned and closed his eyes, nuzzling Fenris's neck. "I think I can live with that. Goodnight, love."

Fenris laughed softly and kissed the top of the mage's head. "Goodnight, Fletcher."

Fletcher stayed awake for a while after Fenris had fallen asleep, considering that when Fenris was a slave, he would have had to cater to Danarius's every whim, which would explain why the otherwise-shy elf sometimes displayed flirtatious or sexual behaviour. Fletcher wanted Fenris more than anything, but, when the time came, it would be because Fenris also _wanted _it, not because he felt it was expected of him.

"I love you, Fen. Things are going to be different for you from now on, I promise." Fletcher vowed as he pulled the blankets up around their shoulders and held Fenris tightly until he, too, fell asleep.


	52. Chapter 52

_A huge thank-you to both Mary and Carrie for their input into this chapter, and a special thank you to Mary for beta-ing two chapters in 24 hours, and for doing her usual excellent job. I'd be lost without her!_

_Are there any artists out there? I'd like to commission a traditional/digital painting (would also consider 3D) of Fletcher & Fenris to go with the story, and have approached a few artists registered at deviant art dot com , but have had no luck as I'm not registered with PayPal. If anyone would be interested, and would accept payment in deviant points, please get in touch!_

~o~O~o~

After scouting parties had been sent down the various tunnels leading off the main chamber, it was determined that the collapsed tunnel was the most direct route to the depths, and so the expedition workers put all of their efforts into making it safe. The tunnel was wider than any of the others, which allowed easy transportation of provisions, though its mouth wasn't large enough to accommodate the carts, which had to be unloaded and left behind. After a mile or so, the tunnel widened considerably and led to a veritable network of chambers and other tunnels.

It took ten days for the tunnel to be made safe and for all of the produce and equipment to be transported to the new site, and, after a few heated discussions with Bartrand, Fletcher finally convinced him to allow the non-dwarves to pitch in. Although the humans tired more easily than the hardy dwarves - which led to a lot of banter - they did their share, and by the time the group had settled in, a few new friendships had formed.

Something Fletcher was grateful for was that there hadn't been time for much infighting, even among the dwarves; a few slanging matches had been had, but there had been no slurs on houses, nor the challenges or death threats that inevitably followed.

Another thing he was glad of was that the dwarves seemed to have acquired a respect for Fenris: not only because of the elf's veiled threat to the group when Sebastian was heckled, but because Fenris worked as hard and long as any dwarf, and had impressed them all with his strength, something they hadn't expected to see in an elf.

By now, it was well-known that Fletcher and Fenris were a couple. While travelling through, and camping in, the tunnel, the two of them had enjoyed little to no privacy, and did not flaunt their relationship in front of the others, but the looks and brief touches they exchanged did not go unnoticed. This also led to some needling from a few of the dwarves, but it was generally good-natured. A handful of them, though – notably the older dwarves and Bartrand – gave the couple a wide berth. The exceptions to this were Varric, of course, and Thirin and Torbal, whom, having befriended Fletcher and Fenris, didn't seem to have a problem with their tastes. The humans also didn't react much, as same-sex relationships were much more common among humans and elves than among dwarves, or at least were more socially acceptable.

Anders had kept his word to Fletcher and had stayed out of his fellow mage's affairs. Anders's newfound politeness and aloofness proved rather disconcerting to Fletcher, however; it just didn't seem in Anders's nature to keep such a firm lid on his emotions, and, although Anders had interacted normally within his own small group, he hadn't made any attempt to befriend any of the other workers. He had grown his beard out, as had Sebastian, and Torbal had jokingly offered to plait their beards once they were long enough. Fletcher had remained clean-shaven for Fenris's sake, even though opportunities for a quick kiss had been few and far between, and by the time camp was set up in the new chamber, Fletcher was just about ready to throw the elf over his shoulder and run away with him.

Bathing and washing had been difficult and awkward while working in the tunnel, as well as embarrassing for some. All of the dwarves, and a few of the humans, had quite happily strolled around in the nude and washed in front of the group, while the others were slightly more reserved. Of the rest of the group, Fenris, Anders and the mute human – Sutton - would not allow _anyone_ to see them undressed and a makeshift screen was set up for them. While Fletcher, Sebastian and the rest of the humans didn't mind going topless, they covered themselves while washing their lower regions. After ten days of quick, furtive washing, most of them were desperate for a good bath, and, once camp was set up, this was left for Anders and Fletcher to arrange.

Only two tubs had been brought through from the first chamber, so the mages were kept busy creating and heating water; it was simply not practical to wait for the large amounts of water needed to boil. A time limit was imposed, and soon, most of the workers had bathed. Fenris and Sutton had insisted on bathing alone, without a neighbour in the adjoining tub, and did so behind a screen; Fenris had requested that Fletcher stand guard on the other side of the screen while he took a cold bath.

Last of all, the mages took their own baths. Creating and heating large amounts of water was a significant drain on their mana, so they treated themselves to a longer soak than the others had been allowed. Realising just how much they depended on the mages, most of the other workers didn't complain about that, although Bartrand naturally had something to say, not that they cared. Anders didn't seem to mind Fletcher seeing him naked, but he placed the screen next to his tub so that none of the others could see him.

Fenris, who had stayed away from the spell-casting before and after taking his own bath, found a quiet spot to sit in, and took out _Hector, the Lazy Dog_, the other book Fletcher had gifted him with. He had been reading it in secret, hoping to surprise Fletcher by reading it to him once he'd learned it. After reading for a few minutes, his concentration was broken when he heard Fletcher's voice; the bathing mages were talking, and Fenris glanced up.

From where he sat, he could see half of one of the bathtubs, partially obscured by the screen, as well as a soap-covered leg, which was bent at the knee. Fenris knew it must be Fletcher; the leg in question was far too dark-haired and chunky to belong to Anders. Although the elf hadn't seen Anders naked, he had seen him in just a shirt and leggings, and the possessed mage was surprisingly thin, even fragile-looking, beneath his long coat.

Fenris's eyes quickly darted around the chamber. No one else was close by, nor was anyone paying attention to what he, or the mages, were doing. His eyes wandered back over to the bathtub, and his stomach knotted as Fletcher's hands moved up and down his leg, distributing the soap evenly. Fenris's eyes fell to his book and he gulped, feeling hot. He suspected that Fletcher wouldn't mind Fenris seeing him naked, but, if Fletcher was not aware of his scrutiny, then it was wrong.

Still, Fenris could not help looking up again from his book.

In the tunnel, when Fletcher had walked around wearing nothing on top, Fenris had found himself looking at the mage when he was certain no one else could tell. At first, he had compared Fletcher with Danarius, the only other man Fenris had seen unclothed. The two could not have been more different: Danarius was old, lean but flabby, and his skin was mottled and covered in scars, old and new, from self-inflicted wounds. Fletcher, on the other hand, was solidly built, and looked as though he was once quite muscular as his shoulders were wider than his hips, and his torso tapered downwards in a vague V-shape. The only evidence of occasional overindulgence was his slightly-protruding belly, but he was not fat as he'd once claimed. His skin was pale, almost milky, and, when splashed with hot water, it flushed pink for a time. It was also very clear, with not a scar in sight. His arms were quite hairy, and his chest less so, but still a fine sprinkling of dark hair covered his front, a line of which ran below the waistband of his leggings.

Fletcher was so different; so pure, so good-looking, as opposed to the ugly, grubby magister. Soon, Fenris had stopped thinking of Danarius at all, and had found the image of Fletcher's body hard to eradicate from his mind. That image had tortured him at night, when, sharing a blanket with Fletcher, he'd been unable to touch him because they'd been surrounded by the others. For the first time in his life he had felt a deep, burning longing that demanded to be sated. Now that he and Fletcher were free to choose where they slept that night, the longing and frustration had only increased. He simply didn't feel he could ask for what he wanted, especially as Fletcher wanted them to wait before moving onto the physical side of their relationship.

Fenris had never, in his memory, willingly engaged in sex; in fact, during, and after the act, he had always concentrated on something else: he'd recite one of the child slaves' nursery rhymes in his head, or Danarius's guest list for the following night's dinner. He had done everything he could _not_ to be engaged in the act, at least not in mind or spirit; his body was not something he'd had any control over.

Now, though, it was the only thing he could think about. And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

The splashing of water was heard as Fletcher pushed himself out of the tub, and Fenris's eyes once again fell to his book, though the words blurred as his focus wavered. With another furtive glance around, he slowly looked up in time to catch sight of a fully-naked Fletcher, who faced towards Fenris as he towelled himself. Fenris's heart started to hammer and heat washed over him as he looked down again, not at anything in particular, his breathing quickening.

He scrambled to his feet, his pack held strategically over his middle, and slipped out of the chamber, seeking out a place of solitude.

There was only one thing to be done. He would have to be quick. Finding a quiet, dark place, he placed the pack down and, listening carefully, he closed his eyes and took himself in hand, thinking of the man he loved, and noiselessly brought himself to release. After a moment to catch his breath and steady his legs, he fumbled through his pack for a cloth, cleaned himself off and re-entered the chamber as quietly as he had left.

Fletcher, who had slipped on a fresh robe and was busy towelling his hair next to where Fenris had left his book, grinned as he spotted the elf, who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

"Fen! There you are! Call of nature?" he asked casually, ruffling his damp hair with his hand.

Fenris mumbled something about relieving himself and sat upon the ground, feeling his cheeks flush anew as he moved the book out of sight.

"What have you there?" asked Fletcher, though he already knew.

"It's a secret."

Laughing, Fletcher sat next to the elf and stretched his arms above his head. "Ah…revenge, eh? I really enjoyed that bath. I feel all sleepy, now. How was yours?"

"Cold," answered the elf, "but I feel better for having taken it."

"Well, I'm hoping to get to work on that balm. We should have a bit more time, now that everything's been moved in here."

"Do not rush yourself. I have been taking cold baths for almost four years, now; I am accustomed to them."

"But it's getting colder, Fen; can you feel it?" asked Fletcher, pulling his fur jacket over his shoulders. "It'll keep getting colder, as well. Most of the tunnels leading off this chamber go downwards. Here, take this." He rummaged through his pack and gave Fenris a pot of balm. "Use this before you bathe, at least until I can come up with something that will allow you to bathe in warm water. It's a warming balm; it'll put even more of a glow in those cheeks of yours." Fletcher kissed Fenris's hot cheek, and the elf smiled, his eyes darting around.

"Thank you," he said as he took the pot from Fletcher, tilting his head slightly as he admired Fletcher's freshly-washed hair, which had formed into tiny ringlets.

"Are you aware that you blush when I kiss you?" Fletcher quietly teased.

"That is impossible," refuted Fenris with a shake of his head. "Elves do _not_ blush."

"You elves don't do a fat lot, do you?"

"Apparently not," laughed Fenris, and, feeling warm and relaxed, he once again glanced around before planting a soft kiss on the mage's lips.

"Thank _you_," Fletcher whispered. "That'll keep me going for a while. And you're _definitely_ blushing, now."

"I am _not_," claimed the elf, his burning cheeks telling otherwise.

Fletcher shuffled closer and clasped the elf's hand, looking into his eyes. "I love it when you smile like that, you know, and when your face flushes. You're quite handsome. I'm a very lucky mage."

Now completely at ease in Fletcher's company, Fenris leaned back against the wall and stroked Fletcher's hand as they grinned at each other. "And I am a very lucky elf."

"Hawke! Get over here! Quick!" Torbal shouted from across the chamber.

"Bastards," muttered Fletcher, pushing himself up. "Load of sodding bastards!"

"Popularity is such a curse," Fenris commented with a chuckle.

Looking over at Torbal, Fletcher could see that the dwarf stood next to Thirin, who was seated, clutching his chest.

"Shit. Stay here, Fen; I might need to cast." Fletcher jogged over to the two dwarves and crouched down next to Thirin.

"Can't…breathe. No sodding air in h-here," gasped the elderly dwarf, fanning his face with his hand.

Fletcher loosened the ties at the top of Thirin's shirt as a small crowd gathered. "Would someone fetch Anders, please?" he called out, his confidence in his own abilities having taken a battering after losing Reijyr.

"I'll go," Sebastian volunteered, quickly heading over to the bathtubs, where Anders was getting dressed behind the screen.

"Have you had any problems with your breathing before, Thirin?" asked Fletcher.

Thirin shook his head and gulped. "The air's so stale down here. I can't…can't take a deep breath."

Fletcher glanced up at Torbal, who nodded and took off as fast as his chubby legs would carry him.

Fletcher clasped Thirin's hand. "We're going to make you some oxygen, Thirin. Don't panic; you'll be fine. Nothing bad's going to happen to you, I promise. Just keep taking those breaths, nice and steady." Fletcher's soft voice and assurances settled Thirin a little, and he sat next to the dwarf, stroking his back while Torbal hurriedly prepared the salt mixture and Sebastian approached Anders's location.

"Get out!" Anders cried out, and Sebastian leaped back, having unthinkingly stepped behind the screen.

"Anders, I'm sorry…Maker! What is…?"

"Why do you think the bloody screen's up?" a furious Anders shouted, his voice trembling. "I didn't want anyone coming behind it! That's what screens are_ for_!"

"F-forgive me, Anders," a shaken Sebastian blurted out, averting his eyes. "You're-you're needed; one of the dwarves has been taken ill."

"Just give me a minute, all right?" Anders snapped. "Where's Hawke?"

"He's there, but has asked for you. I…I will leave, now."

Sebastian slowly walked back to join Fletcher, and stared over at the screen, his face flushed scarlet.

"Templars," Fletcher said quietly. "I'm sorry, Sebastian; I should have warned you."

Sebastian's eyes widened and he squatted down next to Fletcher, his voice soft. "The Templars did _that_ to him? I find that hard to believe."

"Did what?" Varric asked from behind Fletcher.

"Shh, he's coming," warned Fletcher, and he stood up, Sebastian taking his place at Thirin's side as Anders approached.

"Anders, mate, Thirin is a bit short of breath. Torbal needs your help charging one of the oxygen generators. He's over there." Fletcher pointed at Torbal, and Anders warily eyed the small group before nodding curtly and walking away.

Despite prodding from Sebastian and Varric, Fletcher refused to elaborate further on what Sebastian had seen, as he was annoyed at Sebastian's off-hand dismissal of his words.

With Anders's help, the oxygen generator was prepared, and soon, Thirin was breathing easier.

"We'd better get some of these ready, just in case," Fletcher said to Torbal, who nodded his agreement. "We won't charge them until they're needed, though; no point in wasting the charge." He then walked over to Thirin. "Any better?"

"Aye, Hawke; you're a good lad. Your friend, too." Thirin turned around and gave Anders a thumbs-up, and Anders nodded, solemnly returning the gesture.

"Still rather eat your own crap than have anything to do with magic?" Fletcher grinned at the dwarf.

"I happen to like the taste of my own crap, Human; it tastes better than that lumpy slop you served us a while back."

"That's the closest I've ever had to a compliment from a dwarf," Fletcher laughed. "I'll take it." Thirin chortled and shook Fletcher's hand; Fletcher then slapped his shoulder and walked away. "Anders," he said, jerking his head.

Anders stared balefully at Sebastian before following Fletcher to a quiet corner, where the mages sat down.

"What did he say to you?" Fenris demanded of Sebastian, having arrived next to him.

The Chantry brother didn't answer immediately, and slowly walked away to where Anders and Fletcher couldn't see him, followed by Fenris and Varric. Sebastian took a deep breath and shook his head. "He has…a _brand _on his chest," he whispered. "It must have been horrifically painful…I can't even imagine…"

"A brand? What kind of brand?" Fenris asked, frowning deeply.

Sebastian shook his head again and closed his eyes for a second. "The kind that would be used on an animal." He opened his eyes and looked over in the direction Anders and Fletcher had gone. "Hawke claimed that the Templars were responsible, but I don't-"

"Well,_ that _explains a lot," Varric spat angrily. "Those bastards! No wonder the poor sod hates them so much!"

"You don't understand, Varric," Sebastian replied. "The Templars are a dedicated Order, Maker-fearing, righteous and upstanding…they exist only to protect us from the evils of magic-"

"Choirboy, sometimes your naivety astounds me," Varric answered wearily. "Just how evil do those two kids seem to you?"

"I wasn't necessarily referring to Hawke or Anders, Varric," protested Sebastian, but even as he spoke, he remembered that Hawke was a blood mage; he then thought back to how strenuously both mages had fought to save Vonim and Reijyr's lives, and he sighed, feeling conflicted.

"And as for those Templars," Varric went on, "think about it. They have complete power over the mages in their care. Power corrupts, Choirboy. Some of them are bound to go wrong."

"If a templar _was_ indeed responsible for this, I must bring it to the attention of the Grand Cleric," Sebastian sighed, not knowing what to think.

"I don't think that'll do any good; seems to me it happened in Ferelden," said Varric. "Blondie told me and Hawke that they locked him up for a year, in solitary, when he tried to escape. He shut up pretty damn quick when I asked him how it had been. I don't know the whole story, but I'm pretty sure Hawke does."

"A _year_ in solitary?" Sebastian exclaimed. "That would _never_ be sanctioned in Kirkwall, I'm certain of it."

"Are you sure?" Varric asked. "You spend a lot of time in the chantry, but how often do you, or the Grand Cleric, visit that Gallows place? Do you really know what goes on in there? Does anyone? I'm not one to get involved or take sides, but I hear stories."

"From Anders, you mean?"

"From lots of people."

Shaking his head again, Sebastian moved to where he could see the mages; Fletcher sat close to Anders, who had his head in his hands. Fletcher seemed to be doing most of the talking.

"No matter where it happened, if a templar did…that, he or she _must_ be brought to justice," Sebastian said quietly, turning to Varric. "On our return to the surface, I will speak to Elthina, and I will bring her to the Gallows. If abuses are being committed, we will root out the perpetrators."

Varric sighed, again struck by Sebastian's naivety, but he smiled and slapped the archer's arm. "Good luck with that. But you should speak to Blondie first; at least get a mage's perspective before you get the Chantry's."

Sebastian nodded, appearing troubled. "Perhaps when he is calmer. I will leave him be for now. Excuse me," he mumbled, going for a walk around the chamber, leaving Varric and Fenris alone.

The elf also excused himself and returned to his and Fletcher's spot, crossing his legs as he sat upon the ground. Picking up his book, he caught sight of his arms and ran a finger along one of his lyrium scars. In a way, he was branded, just as Anders was, and his scars were the very reason he'd refused to bathe with anyone else: to avoid the questions, the stares, the pitying glances.

Fletcher caught the elf's eye as he looked over at them, and Fletcher nodded at him, letting him know that everything was fine. Fenris nodded back, but his eyes were on Anders. The droop of Anders's shoulders - his eyes cast to the ground, and his hands squeezed so tightly together they had turned white - were so familiar to Fenris, and he wondered if Fletcher had been right when he'd asserted that he and Anders had more in common than they would admit. What had Anders endured? Were his claims about the Templars' brutality true? Had Fenris misjudged him as he'd once misjudged Fletcher?

Seeing that some of the workers were seeking out their sleeping places for the night, Fenris decided he'd better find a spot for him and Fletcher, and, stowing his book away, he stood up and gave the mages their privacy.

~o~O~o~

Fletcher found him a while later. Fenris had set up their bedrolls just inside one of the smaller tunnels, after first checking with some of the dwarves that it was safe. Although dark, a faint glow from the fires in the main chamber illuminated the tunnel, providing just enough light to see by.

"How is he?" Fenris asked as Fletcher sat upon his bedroll with a sigh.

"He's talking with Sebastian and Varric. He felt bad about going off at Sebastian like that, but Sebastian approached him first."

Fenris nodded and joined Fletcher on the ground, noting that the mage appeared tired and tense. "Fletcher…what is _wrong_ with Anders?"

Fletcher grasped the back of his neck, roughly massaging himself. "He's very mixed up, that's what. He…well, some of the templars at the Tower in Ferelden gave him a hard time."

"Sebastian informed us of the mark on his chest," said Fenris.

"Ah…well then, you can see what I mean." Fletcher winced as he tried to tackle a hard knot in his neck, and Fenris got to his knees, moving behind Fletcher.

"May I?" asked the elf, placing his hands on Fletcher's shoulders.

"Oh, that would be_ wonderful_. Thank you, Fen."

Without speaking, Fenris moved his hands to the nape of Fletcher's neck and his thumbs pressed down, moving in small circles. Fletcher's head fell back and he moaned softly, a blissful smile forming on his lips as some of the tension left him. "Oh, Fen…that's just…you're so…have you done this before?" Fenris felt the mage tense beneath his hands, then, and Fletcher turned his head back a little. "Did you used to do this for…you know?"

"I did," answered the elf calmly, and he heard Fletcher take a deep breath. "But I _want _to do this for _you_. Be at ease."

Fletcher exhaled, reached for one of the elf's hands and brought it to his mouth, kissing it, before he released it and allowed Fenris to continue. "The Templars really had it in for Anders," he told the elf. "He made them look like fools, constantly escaping from the Tower. After his sixth escape, some of the templars decided they'd had enough. They couldn't make him tranquil as he was a harrowed mage, so they locked him up and did what they wanted with him. For a whole year. Most of it was psychological, to break his spirit and such. They branded him to show he was the _property_ of the Templars."

Fenris's hands stilled, and Fletcher looked back at him, his gaze intense.

"How did he escape again?" Fenris asked, not meeting his eyes.

"There was a disaster of some kind at the Tower, during which most of the other mages and templars were killed. He was lucky to get away. He's had it hard, Fen. I know I don't always understand him, but…well, maybe I should cut him some slack. Sometimes I forget what he's been through."

Fletcher faced ahead, and Fenris resumed his massage as the two shared a thoughtful silence.

"This is a nice little spot you've found, Fen," said Fletcher after a while, and Fenris sensed he wanted to move on from the subject of Anders for the time being. Although Fenris was disturbed by what he'd heard about Anders, Fletcher was his priority. Fenris snaked his arms around Fletcher's neck and rested his chin on top of the mage's head.

"You have a great deal on your mind, don't you?" asked the elf. "You are always worrying over someone. I would worry over _you_ if you weren't worried about _something_."

"Well, look at us, understanding each other and everything!" Fletcher chuckled, and he clasped Fenris's hands tightly, his eyes closing as he leaned back. "Aw, Fen…you can stay there forever if you like. This is lovely."

"I would gladly oblige, but my knees are starting to ache," said Fenris.

"Selfish git." Fletcher tutted, and, hearing a soft snigger from behind him, he released Fenris's hands, and the elf moved to Fletcher's side, sitting next to him but facing in the opposite direction.

"Alone at last, eh?" Fletcher grinned, reaching for Fenris's hair and twisting a lock around his finger. "You owe me ten days' worth of kisses, mister."

"I believe you used one of your quota earlier," Fenris teased, his eyes shining with mirth.

Fletcher shook his head and grabbed Fenris around the waist, pulling him close. "You can forget that. Come here." With a smile, Fletcher lowered his lips to Fenris's, and they shared a delicious, languorous kiss. A few times, Fenris went to pull away, but Fletcher wouldn't relent, nipping at the chuckling elf's mouth whichever way he turned. After a while, Fenris had to stop in order to breathe, and barely managed to draw a breath before Fletcher was upon him again. Eventually, breathless and dizzy, they pulled apart, both laughing.

"You are either trying to suffocate me, or _eat_ me," Fenris scolded him with unconvincing sternness. "I cannot decide which is worse."

"I didn't hear you complaining a minute ago, Elf," Fletcher rebuked him with a feeble-looking scowl, moving closer to Fenris, who leaned backwards, having to brace his hands behind him.

"You hardly gave me the chance, Mage."

Fletcher swivelled his hips, bringing himself alongside Fenris, and playfully pushed him onto his back, using minimal force. Fenris began to laugh as Fletcher leaned over him, nudging the elf's nose with his own. "I'm giving you the chance now, Elf," he whispered. "Would you like to make a complaint?"

"Will you listen if I do?" Fenris chuckled.

"Hmm? What did you say?" Fletcher very slowly brushed his lips against the elf's, and Fenris sighed, his stomach in a tight ball as a tiny shudder travelled through him. Fletcher released his lips and gazed down at him, bringing his hand up to stroke Fenris's cheek. "You know something, Fen? I don't think I've ever been as happy as I am right now."

Fenris gave him a beautiful smile, his huge green eyes heavy-lidded and serene. "Nor have I," he replied softly, a slight hitch in his voice, and he cleared his throat. "Now, you had better fulfil the rest of your quota, or I really _will _complain."

~o~O~o~

After Fletcher had made a sizeable dent in his kissing quota, a swollen-lipped Fenris went in search of tea, while Fletcher made a small fire in the tunnel. When Fenris returned, Fletcher noticed that the elf, who had been insouciant and mellow when he'd left, had reverted to his more natural state of slight hesitancy and watchfulness, and Fletcher kept an eye on him, but didn't mention that he'd noticed the change in Fenris's demeanour.

Handing Fletcher his tea, Fenris set his own mug down, distractedly poked the fire and paced a little in the small space before picking up one of his books, not knowing which.

"Everything all right, love?" Fletcher asked lightly. "Tired?"

A disgruntled huff came from the elf, and Fletcher, keeping his smile in place, shuffled over and patted the bedroll next to him. Fenris paused for a moment before shooting Fletcher a wide-eyed look and cautiously sitting down next to him, putting the book down.

"Something…has been troubling me," the elf said in a quiet, uncertain voice.

"You've hidden that well," Fletcher observed, leaning back on his hands. "You didn't seem too troubled before you went to fetch the tea." He winked at Fenris, who rolled his eyes and sighed. "Well, unless you've changed your mind about me and have decided to take up with Bartrand, I'm way too happy to let anything else bother me."

"Please, do not make light of this," Fenris said querulously. "I have done something I should not, and I have kept it from you. I am _trying _to tell you." Fenris frowned heavily and stared ahead. Fletcher, certain that whatever it was couldn't be as grave as Fenris believed, leaned forward and touched Fenris's arm, stroking it.

"Tell me, then. Whatever it is, let's get it out in the open."

Fenris cringed at Fletcher's choice of words, feeling horrible for ruining their evening, and he groaned, looking down at his hands as he toyed with them. "When…when you…_bathed _earlier, I…caught sight of you." Fenris shook his head quickly, as if dismissing his own words. "No, that is not entirely true. I…_watched _you. Deliberately."

Fenris tensed, every one of his senses heightened, waiting for a disapproving sigh, for Fletcher's hand to withdraw from his arm, or, possibly worse, a half-hearted, disappointed assurance from Fletcher that he didn't mind.

"I know, Fen."

"You-you _know_?" Fenris's head snapped to his left, where a calm, relaxed Fletcher looked back at him, nodding slowly. "But, how? You could not see me, surely?"

"That hair of yours is pretty conspicuous, even when the rest of you is hidden in the shadows," said Fletcher with a mild smile.

"Then why did you not _say_ something? Why did you not look at me, make it known that you had seen me?" demanded the elf.

"Fen…judging from the way you're reacting now, if I'd _looked_ at you, your head probably would have exploded. It really wasn't a problem."

Fenris stared at the mage, his mouth half-open. "It…wasn't?"

Fletcher, who had a good idea why Fenris had disappeared after watching him bathe, shook his head and slipped his arm through Fenris's. "This is all new to you, isn't it?" he asked kindly.

"New? _What_ is new?"

"Having sexual feelings for someone?"

The elf's eyes moved away from Fletcher and his posture tightened. "I…I'm…"

"It's perfectly normal, you know," Fletcher reassured him.

"Normal? Surreptitiously watching another taking a bath is _normal_?"

"Why not?" smiled Fletcher, taking one of the elf's hands. "It wasn't as if you were watching me with any sinister motive in mind. We…care about each other, don't we? What's wrong with you taking pleasure in looking at my body? I was actually pretty flattered, you know, not to mention…well, excited."

An incredulous laugh rushed out of the elf's mouth, which abruptly halted as Fletcher's words sunk in, and he realised what Fletcher meant by Fenris _taking pleasure_. Fletcher _knew_, and, what was more, he didn't seem to care.

"I'll be having another bath in the morning, you know," Fletcher confided, warmth in his voice.

"W-what? Why would you tell me that?" spluttered the elf, his mouth forming an almost-perfect circle.

"Well," Fletcher slipped his arm out of Fenris's and put it around the elf's shoulders, "I just thought I'd let you know. Do with that information what you will."

"It almost sounds as though you _want _me to watch you again," Fenris replied quietly, a very strange sensation taking hold of him.

"I didn't necessarily mean _that_," Fletcher teased, his smile showing in his voice. "All I'm saying is, if you're around when I'm taking a bath tomorrow, and you feel weary and need to sit down, andif your eyes_ happen _to wander in my direction, then I won't be able to do much about it, will I? I'll be in the tub."

A shy laugh bubbled up through Fenris's chest, and he glanced at Fletcher, his mood brightening as a warm flutter filled his belly. "I…don't understand how you are not offended, why you seem to be...encouraging me?"

"Well, it's simple, Fen. You're experiencing some unfamiliar feelings, and you're not sure how to deal with them, or how to feel about them. I think you should _explore_ those feelings. But you should explore them on your own, without any influence from me. That way, you'll feel completely safe and in control. And maybe, when you feel ready, we can explore them…together?"

Sitting very close, they both smiled but didn't speak for a little while. Eventually, Fenris hung his head and laughed quietly. "I…" He nodded, and laughed again.

Beaming, Fletcher stroked Fenris's shoulder and rested his head against the elf's. "Maybe I'll see you at bath time, then, if you're not too busy?"

"Maybe," whispered the elf, and he closed his eyes, his entire body tingling with anticipation. He then took a very deep breath and moved away from Fletcher slightly, reaching for the book that lay at his side.

"Hector, the Lazy Dog?" Fletcher asked. "We haven't started that yet, have we?"

"_We _haven't, but _I _have," Fenris announced proudly, opening the book at the first page.

Fletcher gasped dramatically, his hands flying to his mouth, and Fenris failed miserably at affecting a scowl, a reluctant smile breaking through as he shook his head.

"What a shock!" Fletcher exclaimed, and moved the book over so it sat on both of their laps.

"Your acting is _quite_ atrocious," Fenris stated.

"I have no idea what you mean," sniffed the mage. "Now, let's see what you've learned. I need to know if I still have a job as your teacher or not."

He pulled the elf closer, and felt an arm wrap around his back. With Fenris's dour mood successfully banished, Fletcher kissed the elf's hair and waited for him to begin.


	53. Chapter 53

_My heartfelt thanks, as always, to Mary for her invaluable beta skills, as well as to all of you who leave reviews, favourite/alert and send me PMs._

_By now, some of you may have guessed that I'm not sticking to canon in the Deep Roads section of the story. Just so you know: there will be no lyrium idol, and therefore no lyrium sword. There will be alternate story lines to compensate for this. Also, there will be no mention of Bodahn or Sandal; I can see why they were necessary ingame, but they're not necessary to this story, and I just can't see Fletcher having servants of any kind, especially as he's with Fenris._

~o~O~o~

Fenris awoke alone the following morning. Fletcher's bedroll was cold and the fire at the rear of the cave was guttering. Fenris pulled his blanket around his shoulders and pushed himself up, bracing his hands against his back and pushing his hips forward; the hard stone floor did his back no favours, though he'd had an adequate amount of sleep, as he always seemed to when Fletcher was with him.

He padded over to the entrance of the tunnel and looked around. The hour was obviously quite early as several loud snores assailed his ears: most of the workers were still asleep. His eyes moved to a small fire at the far end of the cavern, where Anders and Fletcher were seated, talking. Fenris paused, uncertain whether he should disturb them, but just as he was about to turn back, Fletcher spotted him and beckoned him over.

As Fenris approached, Fletcher poured some tea for him and handed him the mug as he sat down next to Fletcher.

"Anders couldn't sleep," Fletcher explained, and Anders glanced up at Fenris briefly before looking at the ground. "We've had a talk." Fletcher pushed himself back a little so that Fenris and Anders could see each other clearly, and he went on, speaking to both of them: "Anders, you're my friend, and Fenris, you're the man I love. I want both of you in my life, and I don't want to feel guilty about that. The two of you might never be best friends, but we're all stuck down here together and I think we'd all feel better if we were civil to each other. Anders has agreed to make more of an effort."

Fletcher glanced at Fenris, who looked back at him. Fenris didn't know how to feel about Anders; the only thing he was certain of was that he didn't trust him. Then again, he hadn't trusted Fletcher at first, and now Fletcher was the man he trusted more than anyone else. Fenris _had_ felt a fleeting kinship with Anders, however, when he'd heard his claims of being abused by the Templars, and was curious to learn more. That wasn't likely to happen, though, unless he was more amenable toward Anders.

Additionally, there was Fletcher to consider. He had enough to worry about, with the safety and care of the expedition workers – which Bartrand clearly had no interest in – as well as Bartrand himself. Fletcher didn't need any more strife.

Furthermore, Fletcher had just told Anders that Fenris was the man he loved. He'd said it openly and casually, maybe not realising the significance his words held for Fenris. Or maybe he did? Hadn't Fenris caught a hint of a smile from Fletcher when he'd said it?

"Anders." Fenris leaned forward, holding his hand out. Anders, who had been staring at the fire, blinked and looked at Fenris's hand for a moment. Fletcher's expression remained impassive as Anders reached over and shook it.

"Anders has been telling me about his family," Fletcher said to Fenris, before turning back to his fellow mage. "Why don't you tell Fenris, Anders?"

"I'm…not sure Fenris would be interested," Anders mumbled, examining his boots.

"If you tell me, I will listen," Fenris said, catching Fletcher's grin from the corner of his eye.

Anders sat up straight and sighed, looking uncertainly at Fletcher, who nodded and smiled his encouragement. "Well, it's not very interesting," Anders began, and, seeing that Fenris and Fletcher were waiting for him to continue, he sighed again.

"I was twelve when the Templars came for me. I'd kept my abilities secret from my family; they were very superstitious and feared magic. They always said that they were relieved my brother and I had not been mages."

Fenris frowned and sat forward, clasping his hands together. "But…that sounds like…"

"Dalton?" Fletcher asked, and Fenris nodded.

"Quite a few mages in the Tower came from families which despised magic," Anders resumed. "My situation wasn't uncommon. Not all of us were as lucky as Hawke." He looked nervously at Fletcher. "That…wasn't a dig, by the way."

"I know," Fletcher answered with a nod.

"My own parents reported me to the Templars," Anders said quickly, noting Fenris's heavy frown. "We had a quarrel one night, over something stupid. I became angry and couldn't control…" He held up his hands and stared at them. "My hands started crackling with energy. Mother and Father almost fell over themselves as they ran out of the room. They wouldn't talk to me – they wouldn't even _look _at me. The following day, I was taken away."

The three men sat in silence for a few minutes as some of the expedition workers began to stir. Fletcher scowled and rolled his eyes as a loud fart and a curse came from Bartrand's bedroll, before returning his attention to Anders and Fenris.

"Tell him about your brother, Anders," Fletcher prompted.

A faraway look came into Anders's eyes, followed by a glimmer of sadness. "He…he didn't care about my magic. He sat up with me that night, just as Hawke did last night. When the Templars came, he was so calm…he told me not to worry, and that I'd see him again. He _promised_. He seemed so certain," he said wistfully, hanging his head and drawing a long breath. "I…never did see him again."

"Does he live?" Fenris asked.

"I don't know," Anders replied softly, and he shook his head, lowering his voice. "I mean…I hope so. You know, it's ironic," he said, looking up at Fenris, "you may well have passed through my village at some point: it's not far from Minrathous."

Fenris tilted his head, looking confused. "From where do you hail?"

"Tallo, in the Anderfels."

"I have heard of it," Fenris said, raising his eyebrows. "It is a fishing village on the shore of the Colean Sea, is it not?"

"That's right."

"Then, you were named for the place of your birth?" asked Fenris, genuinely interested. They all looked up, then, as Sebastian rose from his bedroll and nodded over to them.

"Do you need some water, Sebastian?" Fletcher called over to him, knowing that he used water in a cleansing ritual before prayer.

"My drinking water will suffice, Hawke, but thank you," answered Sebastian, and he doffed a small bow before crouching down and uncorking his waterskin, taking a drink.

Sebastian first purified his hands with water, and stripped to the waist before splashing water over his chest to symbolically cleanse his heart; he then poured the rest of the water over his head to cleanse his mind. Slicking his hair off his face, he dropped to one knee, and Anders continued, but spoke quietly while Sebastian prayed a short distance away.

"Anders isn't my real name," he told a surprised Fenris. "It was given to me by the Templars. I never told them my real name, and no matter what they did to me, I didn't crack. My name was the one thing those bastards couldn't take from me."

Fletcher's eyes moved between the two men, pleased that they were having a civil conversation, even if the content was heavy.

"Fenris is also not my given name," the elf confided. "It, too, was a 'gift', from my former master. I do not know what my real name is…was."

"Do you know what your real name is, Anders?" Fletcher asked.

Anders's eyes moved to the fire, and he didn't answer immediately. "Yes, I do," he said quietly, "but I'd prefer to keep it to myself. It's the only part of me that's truly mine, if you can understand that."

Fletcher nodded, his eyes moving to Bartrand, who had started to noisily rouse the other workers. "How long were you held against your will in the Tower, Anders?" he asked. By now, both Anders and Fenris knew what he was trying to do – highlight the similarities between the two of them – but they went along with it. "Actually, I need to speak to Bartrand," Fletcher said with a sigh, and he pushed to his feet. "You two carry on without me; I'll be back shortly."

He walked away, hoping that the two of them wouldn't suddenly find excuses for not talking to each other. As he neared Bartrand, he glanced back, and smiled as Fenris appeared to be speaking while Anders nodded. They leaned away from each other, and their postures were awkward, but they were talking, at least.

"What do _you_ want, Cream Puff?" Bartrand asked gruffly, and Fletcher - happy that Fenris and Anders were talking, and feeling mischievous – refused to rise to Bartrand's bait.

"Well, hello there, Ducky!" he chirped in his most effeminate-sounding voice, and, ignoring Bartrand's furious glare, he placed his hands on his hips and grinned. "You know, 'Cream Puff' is Fenris's pet name for me," he lied, and bit back his laugh as Bartrand's face dropped. "It warms the cockles of my heart to hear that name spoken in that…dulcet voice of yours. I never knew you felt that way, Bartrand. Unfortunately for you, I'm taken. Such a shame."

"Yeah, laugh it up, Mage," Bartrand growled, backing away a few steps, not taking his eyes off Fletcher.

"I thought we could discuss the scouting of the tunnels today?" Fletcher asked.

"I don't need _you_ to remind me of that," snapped the dwarf.

"Are you sure? Because I heard you'd planned to spend most of today setting up a still," Fletcher commented lightly, and raised an eyebrow as Bartrand frowned. "I also noticed that a third bathtub has been brought through from the first chamber, plus several sacks of corn meal and sugar. Oh, yeast, as well. Maybe I've got it wrong, though. _Have_ I got it wrong, Bartrand?"

"Look! It only takes two men to set up a still," Bartrand sniped, vexed that the mage was on to him.

"There are nine tunnels leading off this chamber, Bartrand, and it'll take at least all of today to scout them out. We need everyone, and we need them _sober_."

"No," Bartrand grunted, folding his arms. "We can spare two of 'em. When the men come back, they'll wanna relax. We're running out of booze, and we need to get some made. You gonna be the one to tell 'em they can't have a drink after a day's hard work?"

"I wouldn't begrudge them a drink, Bartrand, but the last time you and your men had a drink, you all fell asleep, remember? And I don't need to remind you of how disastrous that was to poor Reijyr. _No one _is having a drink, _or_ setting up a still, _until _those tunnels are scouted out."

"Who the hell do you think you are?" shouted Bartrand, drawing the attention of some of the workers. "_I'm _the leader of this expedition, not you!"

"You're not fit to lead this expedition," Fletcher whispered harshly. "You couldn't give a shit about the safety of your workers, or about their morale, for that matter."

"These men aren't concerned with fucking morale!" Bartrand laughed, throwing his hands into the air. "If you humans want to sing campfire songs and _bond_, then be my guest. The rest of us wanna make some money! Go ahead, Mage, tell 'em all how _rich _your morale will make them!"

"I'll do that," Fletcher declared, and he walked away from Bartrand, clearing his throat. "Good morning, everyone!" he said loudly to the expedition workers, all of whom were now awake. "After breakfast, we're going to start scouting out these tunnels. We'll all have bacon and eggs today, yes? Give us plenty of ballast." He patted his belly and grinned.

A drowsy cheer rose up from the workers, who were growing pretty sick of porridge every morning. "I understand that some of you plan to set up a still today. Well, as soon as the tunnels have been scouted, you can get right on that."

"Hey!" shouted Angrim, the dwarf unfortunate enough to have been partnered with Bartrand. "We were gonna do that _before _we set out! Bartrand _told_ us to do it!"

"There's been a change of plan," said Fletcher, amid a few discontented groans, and, worried that the workers would berate him, his stomach flipped. "The thing is, I have no idea how to make a still, and, I suspect, neither do the rest of my human friends. We need you dwarves to disabuse us of our ignorance in the art of making grog, and the best time to do that would be when all the hard work is out of the way. There simply isn't time now. What do you say?" he asked with his most charming smile.

Some of the dwarves frowned and blinked as they repeated Fletcher's words in their heads, trying to make sense of what he'd said.

"Later?" Angrim asked.

"Later," agreed Fletcher, not giving him a chance to argue. "Now, I'm going to get the bacon started. Anyone care to give me a hand?"

A few humans volunteered, and, to Fletcher's delight, so did a couple of dwarves, though they probably did so to expedite breakfast, and consequently the scouting of the tunnels and the making of the grog. "That's how you manage people," he said in a quiet aside to Bartrand.

"Well,_ thanks_ for the psychology lesson," Bartrand spat sarcastically. "How about I give you a heads up on the psychology of dwarves? You keep 'em away from their booze and their gold for long, and they'll turn on you. I have twenty-seven people to watch over, and I'm trying to keep them all happy. You need to get that into your head, Human."

"Keep them happy? You could have fooled me," Fletcher scoffed, "and it's twenty-_six_, now, in case you'd forgotten. I'm going to make sure twenty-six people _leave_ here. Get that into _your _head, Dwarf."

Bartrand threw his arms up again and stomped away. "Angrim!" he barked. "Get over here. You're scouting with me, quick as we can."

"Actually, I think _I'll_ join you both," Fletcher interrupted, not relishing the prospect of spending any time with the belligerent dwarf, but wanting to keep an eye on him. "This is _not _going to be a rush job. We'll leave after breakfast." With that, Fletcher went to assist the others to prepare the morning meal, feeling Bartrand's eyes drilling holes into his back.

~o~O~o~

Over breakfast, Fletcher encouraged Anders to tell the group – which now consisted of the two mages, Fenris, Varric, Sebastian, Torbal and Thirin – of his escape attempts from the Tower in Ferelden. Several of the human workers and a few dwarves sat nearby, and also listened. Although Anders told his story confidently and with enthusiasm, when he reached his fifth escape attempt he appeared eager to change the subject, and asked Fenris how he escaped from Danarius.

Fenris answered succinctly, leaving some details out, and didn't mention the Fog Warriors at all, but he related the salient details.

"You're obviously better at escaping than I am," Anders commented through a mouthful of toast. "You escaped once, and stayed escaped."

Fenris shook his head and replied quietly, "No. It was nothing but serendipity that allowed me to escape. Had I been re-captured, I doubt I would have made another attempt." He felt Fletcher's hand on his back. "I applaud your tenacity," he said to Anders.

Anders also shook his head, and gesticulated animatedly. "You must _never _give up. My incarceration was an affront to decency and civilisation, as was yours. Planning my escapes and actually going through with them were the only things that gave my life any purpose at the time. All the other mages at the Tower convinced themselves they were happy with the way things were, but that was because they weren't brave enough to take a stand. Sometimes one person has to step forward and take risks to change things. And now, in the Free Marches, I have a chance to do the same. Things are happening here; the first step has already been taken. That fire at the Tower in Starkhaven was no accident. Someone decided they'd had enough of the status quo, and they took a stand."

"Are you saying that fire was started deliberately?" Sebastian asked, dismayed. "I hear that many lives were lost."

"Yes, but several mages also escaped," Anders argued, and a few glances were exchanged among the group. "_That_ is what will be remembered."

"How do you know this, Anders?" Fletcher asked.

"I visited the Gallows and spoke to some of the mages that had been captured – that day at the coast, remember, Hawke?"

"You went to the Gallows on your own?" asked Fletcher in surprise.

"Is there a reason I shouldn't?" Anders asked, and Fletcher stared at him for a moment before shaking his head. "That blood mage, what was his name?"

"Decimus," Fletcher supplied.

"Right. _He_ started the fire. I know he turned out to be a lunatic, but he took a stand; he has to be admired for that, if nothing else. It can't end there."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the group, before Sebastian laid down his plate and sat forward. "_Admired_? Anders, how can you-"

"Blondie," Varric interjected, clapping Anders's shoulder, "You've made your _own_ stand, and a lot of people admire _you _for that; the elf said so, didn't he? You're a free man; why not kick back a little, smell the roses? You deserve it. Don't get mixed up with people like that."

"Haven't you been listening to me, Varric?" Anders demanded, and Fletcher fidgeted, fearing the temporary truce was about to turn into a justice-and-freedom-for-mages rant. "Decimus's methods were questionable, but he did what nobody else dared to in order to secure the freedom of his brothers and sisters," he stated, prodding his thigh with his finger. "The other mages that were too cowardly to stand up with him ended up dead, or are still locked up in Starkhaven-"

"Are you saying those mages _deserved _to die, Anders?" Sebastian asked indignantly.

"No, of course not! All I'm saying is, those who sit around and do nothing must be prepared to face the consequences of their inaction."

Anders stopped abruptly as Fletcher grabbed his arm hard, digging his fingers in. "Well, I think we should get ourselves ready; we have a lot of tunnels to scout," he announced, forcing a lightness he didn't feel into his voice as he tried to pull Anders up.

Anders shrugged Fletcher's hand off and, taking his plate, he stood up without assistance. "Changing the subject won't alter the fact that things are _happening _in Kirkwall. The arrival of those Starkhaven mages at the Gallows is the best thing that could have happened. _They _won't take their situation lying down, and neither will _I_."

"Anders, you don't _have _a situation!" Fletcher protested, but Anders was already walking away.

"That is a _very_ troubled man," Fenris stated quietly with a grave glance at Fletcher.

"No fucking shit, Elf," muttered Varric, pushing to his feet.

~o~O~o~

"Who put _you_ in charge, Human?" Rasel heckled as Fletcher tried to place the workers into groups after breakfast. "Last time I looked, Bartrand was in charge!"

"Nobody _needed_ to put him in charge," Varric answered, receiving a grateful look from Fletcher. "He's an investor, as am I. He was just telling me how excited he is about getting the still set up, and he wants us to set off as quickly as possible. Now, are you all gonna stand around here arguing, or are we gonna get to work? Hawke wants his booze as much as you lot do!"

"Shut up then, Varric, and let the human speak!" One of the dwarves called from the back.

"Thank you," said Fletcher, doing his best not to laugh, and also doing his best to avoid the decidedly frosty look Bartrand was giving him and Varric. "Bartrand, Angrim and I will be together-"

"With me," Fenris piped up, his insistent tone of voice not to be argued with.

"Fine," Fletcher replied with a small smile. "Um, I know you've all made friends and formed your own little groups, but I want at least one human and one dwarf in each group; that way, us unsophisticated humans might actually learn something," he cajoled, and a small laugh rose up around the group. "You just might not end up with your first choice of friends, that's all."

"You get to take your _boyfriend_, though, don't you?" accused Bartrand.

"Well,_ I_ wouldn't argue with him; would you?" Fletcher joked.

"I invite you to try," Fenris sneered, and Bartrand's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

After a few more mini-debates, the workers drifted into groups.

"I'm with Blondie," Varric insisted, moving to the mage's side. "There's your dwarf and human."

"I meant _proper _dwarves, Varric," teased Fletcher. "Not soft surfacers like you."

"Well, at least we'll have fun, Hawke," said Varric. "Can't say I'd be in your shoes, with Bartrand and Broody for company."

Fletcher folded his arms, an impish glint in his eye. "Well, we can't have you having _too_ much fun; you won't be able to concentrate properly. I'll send Rasel and Sutton over to you."

"Sutton? Is that the one who doesn't speak?" Anders whined.

"Yes, but don't worry, Anders; you'll be too busy fending off Rasel's complaints to notice," answered Fletcher, ignoring his friends' scowls as he took off to find their unwelcome companions.

Finally, the workers set off. Sebastian had remained with his partner, Torbal, and they'd teamed up with Thirin and Alum, one of the human workers. Not all of the tunnels would be scouted in one go, but Fletcher had insisted on at least four people in each group, with one person staying close to the entrance, so they could raise the alarm in case of trouble. Angrim volunteered for this task in Fletcher's group, not fancying accompanying the simpering mage and elf, and not having a great deal of love for Bartrand, either.

While he stayed behind, Bartrand walked well ahead of Fenris and Fletcher, and prodded at the roof of the tunnel occasionally with a large stick, holding his torch in his other hand.

"It's quite dusty in here, isn't it, Fenris?" Fletcher murmured quietly to the elf as they walked along. "Think I'll need rather a long bath when we get back."

Fenris's mouth curved upward slightly and the blush that Fletcher loved to see crept into his cheeks. "That would be advisable," he counselled, keeping his eyes dead ahead, a quiet, staccato snort escaping through his nose.

"And afterwards, I'm going to get to work on those balms of yours," Fletcher went on. "I was discussing them with Anders, actually; he has some good ideas for the Mystical Magic Repelling Balm, you know."

Fenris nodded, his smile fading slightly. "If I can be of assistance, please let me know."

"I wanted to say I appreciate you making an effort with Anders," Fletcher said, touching the elf's arm. "I know he's…well, troubled, as you said. But he needs people around him, Fen, to keep him grounded; he needs friends. I've argued with him several times in the past and I'm sure I will again, but I _won't_ walk away from him. I think he needs me, even though he might not know it, if that makes sense."

"It does," said the elf. "You are a man of honour, Fletcher, and that you would stay at his side does you credit. Just…" Fenris paused and came to a halt.

"Just what?" asked Fletcher, sensing his hesitancy. "Say what you think, Fen. Partners and confidants, remember?"

"Keep up, you two!" Bartrand shouted from up ahead. "We ain't got time for sweet nothings!"

Ignoring him, Fenris frowned and lowered his voice. "Just…promise me you will not involve yourself too heavily in his affairs. He hints at sedition and subversion, a path that can only end poorly for him, and I would not see you walk the same path. While I suspect that he has endured much, his assertion that _all_ mages must be liberated is both indiscriminate and irresponsible. Some mages _should _be contained; surely even you can see that?"

Fletcher clasped his chin and looked at Fenris thoughtfully.

"All sections of society contain undesirable elements," the elf elaborated. "There are humans, dwarves and elves who should not live among others, because they are criminals, or are immoral or insane. To declare that one section of society should be liberated simply because of who they are is erroneous; dangerous, even. Anders would have all mages freed _because _they are mages, irrespective of their misdemeanours or unsavoury proclivities. In fact, _you_ insisted that the blood mages at the coast be relinquished to the Templars because they were criminals. It was then I began to see the differences between you and Anders: _you_ are prepared to judge a situation on its merits, while he is not."

Fletcher considered Fenris's words, nodding slowly. "I can't argue with that, Fen."

Fenris exhaled softly, and cleared his throat. "I know that you and Anders will be working together at the clinic after the expedition, and I am glad of that; you will be more contented if you are able to care for people. All I ask is that you…keep yourself separate from him, keep his interests apart from your own. If…that makes sense?"

"It does," smiled Fletcher, stroking Fenris's arm. "Thanks for looking out for me. What you say makes a lot of sense, and I'll remember it."

"See that you do," joked the elf, relieved that Fletcher had not taken issue with his concerns.

"Bartrand!"

Fletcher and Fenris's heads snapped in the direction of the tunnel entrance. "Where's that coming from? Is that Anders?" Fletcher asked.

"Bartrand! Where is he, Ang-oh, bloody hell, I can't remember your name. Where's Bartrand? Is he in here?"

Fletcher and Fenris quickly walked back to the tunnel entrance, where an irate-looking Anders was badgering Angrim, with an out-of-breath Varric arriving behind him.

"Where's that no-good brother of mine?" the dwarf demanded.

"He's further up the tunnel," Fletcher answered. "What's this about?"

"Come over here," Anders ordered someone Fletcher couldn't see. "And wipe that bloody smirk off your face!"

Fletcher's look of bemusement quickly transformed into a glower as the mystery person stepped forward.

"I _told _you I had something up my sleeve, didn't I, Hawke?" Isabela laughed. "Why, hello, Fenris," she greeted the elf in a flirtatious tone; Fenris shook his head without answering.

"I don't believe this!" Fletcher exclaimed, covering his face with his hands.

"I'd like you all to meet _Sutton_," Anders blurted. "Now we know why he-_she_ always wore a hood and never spoke! It's lucky Varric noticed she had big tits for a man!"

"Now, come on, Blondie; I didn't actually say _that_. I believe the word I used was 'knockers'."

"Never mind which word you used!" Anders snapped, pushing past the rest of them. "Where _is_ that bastard?"

"He _knew _about this?" demanded Fletcher.

"Well, I should think so," said Isabela as Anders charged up the tunnel. "I had to pay the twister ten bloody sovereigns to participate in this…expedition," she said, brushing dust off her shirt and breeches.

Fletcher stared at her morosely for a minute before he turned and followed Anders up the tunnel.

"Do you have _no _concept of your workers' safety?" he heard Anders shouting from up ahead. "Haven't you heard about the broodmothers? There was a _reason_ I insisted on no women on the expedition! What is _wrong_ with you?"

"Of course he knows about the broodmothers!" Fletcher said as he joined them. "He's a bloody dwarf, isn't he? Don't they all know?"

"The broodmothers are a sodding myth!" Bartrand growled.

"Oh? Then I must have imagined it when I killed one of the fuckers at Drake's Fall!" Anders yelled. "And you _knew _about them? That makes it even worse!"

"Both of us told you, _no women_, Bartrand," Fletcher said angrily as Varric and Fenris caught up and stood at his side. "You really do care more about money than your workers, don't you?"

"Do you _mind_?" Isabela called from behind them, and they all turned around to see the pirate standing with her hands on her hips. "Believe it or not, I _am_ a grown woman and I can make my own decisions. While I would love nothing more than to see five strong men fighting over me, I really have to-"

"She's going back up to the surface, right now!" Anders ordered Bartrand.

"_She _is going nowhere!" Isabela argued. "Unless, that is, you tie me up and throw me over your shoulder, which, in principle, I'd have no problem with, but this isn't really the time. Now, let's get this straight: I've paid good money to be down here, and down here's where I'm _staying_. I'm glad this is all out, to be honest; it was becoming a chore having to constantly fart and scratch my non-existent balls to look like a bloke. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to unstrap my boobs; they bloody hurt, you know, not to mention itch, but I expect you mages will have a cream for that. Care to give me a hand, Fenris?"

The elf blanched, and Fletcher walked over to Isabela, stopping in front of her. "Just so there's no confusion, Isabela: Fenris is with _me_."

"Beat me to the punch, eh?" laughed the pirate. "You lucky sod." She looked Fenris and Fletcher up and down and frowned slightly. "How do you overcome the height difference?" she pondered. "I expect you have a position for that, though…you'll have to fill me in," she said with a wink.

"Don't you have boobs to unstrap?" Fletcher asked irritably.

"Oh, yes, all right. I'll do that and then I'll go and keep poor Rasel company; remember him? We _do_ have work to do when you lot have finished your pettifoggery." With that, she tossed her hair over her shoulders, turned and sauntered out of the tunnel, massaging her crushed breasts.

"You have a lot of explaining to do, Bartrand," Fletcher bristled.

"I don't need to explain _nothing _to you, Mage!" he bit back. "I'm the sodding leader of this expedition, and I've had it with you and your queer friends throwing your weight about!"

"No, you're not, Bartrand," Varric said in a hard tone. "We wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for Hawke, and it genuinely frightens me to think that you, alone, are responsible for our safety. Give Blondie his maps back. From now on, he and Hawke are leading the expedition. You're out, Bartrand."

"You forget your place, _little_ brother," snarled Bartrand. "You're getting in a twist because of some tart being in on the expedition? What do you care?"

"I couldn't give a rat's ass about her coming along; like she said, she's a big girl…in more ways than one," Varric quipped, and, noticing that the others weren't smiling, he moved on. "Hawke and Blondie are my friends, and you've disrespected them, and the elf, every opportunity you get. And if it wasn't for them, we would have lost a hell of a lot more than just Reijyr."

Varric stepped in front of Bartrand and stared him down. "You're a black mark on our house, Bartrand. Give Blondie the damned maps or I'll tie _you _up and leave the deep stalkers to feed on you. Quick as you like; we got work to do."

Bartrand's eyes moved over the three irate men and the elf, who had said nothing but was staring daggers at him. He slowly reached into a pocket and produced the Deep Roads maps Anders had provided him with. "Here are your sodding maps," he spat, thrusting them into Anders's hand. "You're making a mistake, Varric. A big mistake; all of you," he threatened in a calm voice.

"Quit your bellyaching," Varric ordered his brother with a disgusted expression. "I suggest we all check on the Rivaini and then get back to work. You can stay here and pout, if you like," he said to Bartrand, and the four men turned and headed back for the main chamber, with Bartrand watching them.

"A very big mistake," he muttered to himself. "The last one you'll ever make, _Brother_."


	54. Chapter 54

_Thank you, Mary, for being a miracle-worker beta and for making this chapter readable!_

_NSFW content in this chapter._

~o~O~o~

After the first six tunnels had been explored, the two new expedition leaders sat on the floor of the main chamber, studying the warden maps, while Torbal prepared the oxygen apparatus. Thirin was already using his, and, after a few of the other workers had complained of shortness of breath, Fletcher didn't want to take any chances.

"You honestly expect me to wear _this _thing?" Isabela complained, flouncing over to Fletcher and Anders, who looked up from their maps. "I look bloody ridiculous!"

Fletcher bit his bottom lip to restrain his smile; Isabela's apparatus didn't quite fit properly, as her ample, now-unstrapped boobs prevented it from being properly secured to her chest, and the small water tank sat under her chin, forcing her to walk with her nose in the air.

"Look, Isabela; we didn't count on any women coming along, did we?" Fletcher replied, his voice a semitone higher than usual. "I'm afraid you'll just have to make do."

Giving an exaggerated pout, she attempted to fold her arms, but, finding no room for them, she placed her hands on her hips instead. "Well, I'm going to need some help securing the straps, then; I can't reach around the back of me. If I try, I'll have someone's eye out."

Instantly, half a dozen of the human workers surged forward, and then stopped dead as she held a hand out. "Fenris, will _you_ help me, please?" she asked sweetly.

The elf, who stood behind Fletcher, gave her a look of warning, and she laughed and shook her head. "Look, Fenris, I _know _that you and Hawke are an item. All's fair in love and war, as they say, and he beat me fair and square; by the looks of it, I was never even in the running." She glanced at the other humans, who had followed her around like a puppy since discovering her true identity. "You're the only one I trust not to have wandering hands, Fenris; contrary to popular belief, wandering hands are not _always_ desirable," she said to the elf, ignoring Anders's derisive snort. "Help a girl out, won't you?" She batted her eyelashes and Fenris sighed wearily.

"Very well." Fenris walked stiffly over to the pirate, and stood behind her while he wrestled with the straps.

"Thank you, Fenris. Nice to see there's a _gentleman_ among you," she said with a pointed look at the human workers, who averted their gazes and dispersed, some of them grumbling. "So, how are things going between you and Hawke, Fenris?" she whispered, getting straight to the point. "I'll bet you don't get much privacy in here, do you? I've seen you both sneaking off now and again. How do you manage to stay so _quiet_?"

She heard a sigh from behind her, and the straps were pulled tight, causing her to lose her footing slightly. "Maker! I can see who the dominant one is in this relationship! Or maybe I'm wrong? You never can tell. Sometimes it's the one you least expect."

Getting no reply, she persisted, heedless of the tautness of the straps in the elf's hands. "So, am I right, Fenris? I'm betting _you're_ in charge. Hawke may be bigger than you physically, but I can tell how strong you are. Well, _am _I right or not?" Met with silence again, she turned around, causing Fenris to lose his grip on the straps, and they unravelled, hanging down at her sides.

"Cat got your tongue?" she asked the irritated-looking elf.

"You are like a child," he accused. "Relentlessly asking questions with no pause for breath! Why do you need to know these things? Of what consequence are they to you?"

"I _need _to know these things because I need to get inside the heads of my characters!" she answered, as though Fenris should know. "It hasn't been easy writing about you two without asking questions; in fact, I've had to make a lot of it up."

Fenris's frown disappeared and he looked at her warily. "Writing?"

"Of course! The dwarf isn't the only one who writes stories, you know! There's nothing like a good _romance_ story. I had a feeling about you two even before Hawke told me in that wonderfully possessive way that you were with _him_. Hm. Maybe _he's _the one in charge?" she mused, her eyes wandering up to the ceiling of the chamber. "He was _quite _forceful in the way he told me. No matter; in my story you take it in turns."

"Take…_what _in turns?" Fenris asked, fearing he already knew the answer.

Isabela leaned closer to the elf, and he took a step back. "Come on, Fenris; you're a grown man. You're not playing Wicked Grace, that's for sure."

Fenris gulped and moved behind her again, his hands fumbling with the straps, which seemed to have a will of their own all of a sudden.

"Would you like to know the title?" she asked.

"You're going to tell me anyway, aren't you?" Fenris groused.

"'Tunnels and Shafts: Love in the Deep Roads'," she declared with pride in her voice, and she could swear the straps shuddered in Fenris's hands. "What do you think? I'm also considering: 'Plundering the Deepest Roads of All', but that might be too subtle. Well?"

"You stated that 'there is nothing like a good romance story'," said the elf as the straps tightened along with his voice, "And that sounds _nothing _like a good romance story."

"Well, there's a _bit_ of romance in there…Hawke asks you at one point if you need a hankie to spit into; _that's_ romantic, isn't it? Well, considerate, at least. Not _everyone_ would ask you that. Ow!" she exclaimed as the straps were yanked, hard, and she staggered back. "Well," she said, turning around. "Now I _know _who the dominant one is. Thanks for answering that so decisively," she added with a saucy smile.

"Are we done?" demanded the peeved elf.

"You've certainly done _me_ up properly; I can hardly breathe," she replied, looking down at her comically top-heavy shadow.

"Good," he muttered, stalking back over to Fletcher.

"You'll be the first to read it, Fenris!" she promised, chuckling.

"No I _won't_," he called back, relieved that his reading skills had not yet progressed beyond children's books.

"Everything all right, Fen?" Fletcher asked as the elf approached, glancing up briefly.

"Fine," was his clipped reply.

Fletcher looked over to the Rivaini, who wore a fat smile, and guessed that his almost daily Soothing Session of Fenris's Jangled Nerves would take place early today. He really didn't mind, though; very few things gave him more pleasure than inveigling a smile from Fenris when a curmudgeonly mood had taken him, and Fletcher had the perfect remedy in mind.

"So, we're agreed, then?" he asked Anders and Varric. "We'll send the dwarves down tunnels seven, eight and nine, while the rest of us prepare lunch and get started on the laundry."

"Actually, Hawke, Bartrand has already taken off down tunnel seven," Varric informed him, his disapproval obvious.

"That's fine," answered Fletcher with a shrug. "Keeps him out of trouble. I don't suppose he told anyone who he'd taken with him?"

"Nope, although his cronies aren't around," Varric replied, referring to the handful of hardened dwarves who had had little to do with the humans, and had only taken directions from Bartrand. "They're still convinced we're holding the entire thing up."

"They can think what they like." Fletcher folded the maps up and gave them to Anders for safe-keeping. "Torbal?" he called, and the rotund dwarf walked over. "After you've finished with the oxygen apparatus, we're putting you in charge of the scouting of tunnels eight and nine, sparing two dwarves to make the still, of course," he grinned.

"You got it, Hawke." Torbal placed his finger and thumb in his mouth and let out a loud, high-pitched whistle, getting everyone's attention. "Thirin, you've done your share of tunnelin' for today. Grab a man and get to work on the still. The rest of you, come with me." He waved his hand, and the remaining dwarves followed him over to the last two tunnels, taking their breathing apparatus with them.

"Does anyone need a bath?" Fletcher asked the rest of the group. "Most of us are covered in dust, and I daresay the dwarves will need one when they return." The majority of the humans nodded or answered in the affirmative. "Right, Anders and I will get started, then. I know _I _could use a bath; I'm filthy," he said, casting a sly glance at Fenris, who shifted from foot to foot, a blush rising up from his neck in spite of his stony expression. "Who wants to cook?"

"Sebastian and I will cook," Isabela piped up. "Seeing as nobody has thought to properly introduce us, it'll give us a chance to become better acquainted."

Sebastian pushed himself up and walked over to the pirate. "I would be delighted, madam," he said with a small bow. "After you." He gestured toward the cooking equipment and followed her, unaware that Fletcher was biting the back of his hand to stifle his laughter.

"Uh…does he _know _the Rivaini?" Varric asked Fletcher. "I mean, _really _know her?"

"Nope," sniggered Fletcher.

"She will eat him alive," Fenris noted sourly, rolling his eyes at Fletcher's amusement.

Fletcher, Anders and Varric stood up. "We'll start the laundry after the baths," Fletcher announced, "but you can all wash your own smalls."

"Why don't we get the evening meal prepared as well as helping Sebastian and Isabela?" offered Sheldon.

"Good idea; we're having nug, aren't we?"

"Leave 'em to me, Hawke," said Thirin, cracking his knuckles. "Soon as I've got the still going, I'll prepare 'em."

"Thanks," Fletcher smiled as the relaxed workers took off to undertake their tasks.

Varric slapped Fletcher's arm and grinned up at him. "I shoulda put you in charge of this thing from the start. Look at 'em; one of em's even whistling!"

"I just hope Bartrand won't cause any grief," Fletcher replied thoughtfully.

"Bartrand's full of piss and vinegar; always has been. I can handle him, don't you worry," Varric reassured him, noticing Fenris fold his arms and stare ahead. "Uh…looks like the elf wants to talk to you. Think I'll hit the tub first, while everyone's working. Hey, Blondie!" he called, and Anders walked over to the bathtubs with him.

Fletcher went over to Fenris and stopped next to him. "Are you all right?" he asked the elf.

"Are you aware that…that _woman_ is writing a story about us?" he asked tersely.

"Really?"

"A _bawdy _one."

"Ah."

"_Ah_?" Fenris turned to fully face Fletcher, his arms still folded. "Is that all you have to say? Do you not care?"

"Well…not…really," Fletcher answered cautiously, deciding it was best not to tell Fenris that Varric had also written a lewd story about them, having been warned by Bethany before they'd set out for the expedition.

"So it does not bother you in the slightest that we are being used, _ridiculed_ in this way?"

Sensing a need to tread carefully, Fletcher took a deep breath. "But…it's not really us, is it, Fen? Isabela's just tacked our names onto two of her characters. It's fiction; nothing to do with real life."

"I am _aware_ of what fiction means." Fenris turned away from Fletcher, who sighed, suspecting that Fenris's mood would not be remedied by a bath after all.

"I don't know why you're letting it bother you, Fen; I'm quite flattered, actually, that anyone would make us the subject of their story."

"You _would _be."

Fletcher swallowed down a lump of irritation and sighed again. "What's the _matter_, Fenris? What's really bothering you?"

"Have I not just told you?" answered the elf impatiently, turning to face him again. "Is it not enough that the entire expedition knows of us? Have you not heard the whistles, the catcalls? Have you not seen the glances as we emerge from our sleeping place at the start of each day? They are watching us, all of the time, and I have an idea of what they are _thinking_, as well."

"Who _cares _what they think?" Fletcher asked, taken aback. "Where has this come from all of a sudden, Fen? It never seemed to bother you before."

"Just because I do not _speak_ of something, does not mean it is not on my mind."

Fletcher's mouth fell open and he stared at the elf in disbelief. "Well, I'm not a mind-reader, am I? I thought we'd agreed to talk about things? Why didn't you tell me this was bothering you? And why _is _it bothering you, anyway?"

"I do not expect you to understand," Fenris said, his voice low and rough. "Clearly, I am in the wrong, as you appear completely unfazed by this, so there is no need for further discussion."

Fenris began to walk away, and anger, fast and sharp, pricked at Fletcher's skin. "Are you ashamed of me? Of being seen with me? Is that what it is?" he demanded, fairly certain that wasn't really the case, but there was a part of him that was hurt by Fenris's behaviour.

Fenris halted, his arms held stiffly at his sides. "I _knew_ you would not understand," he accused.

"Then _make_ me understand! Talk to me!"

Fenris shook his head and quickened his pace, walking over to the human workers who were preparing supper for later.

"Fenris!"

"What the bloody hell just happened?" Fletcher muttered, bewildered and angry. He stood for a few minutes trying to make sense of their conversation, and looked over to where Fenris was quietly helping the workers. Things like this had happened before: something had been on Fenris's mind but he'd felt unable to share it with Fletcher because it was painful for him to speak about, and so he'd lashed out. Did he hope that Fletcher would drop the subject, or that Fletcher wouldn't want to talk to him? Did he want to be left alone or was he, in fact, desperate to share his feelings?

Isabela's rude story seemed to have been the trigger this time. Or was it the lack of privacy? Fenris had spent a large portion of his life alone, and for such a private man, being surrounded by so many other people must be disturbing. Fletcher once again looked over to the elf, who had taken himself off, alone, to prepare vegetables.

He wanted to be alone, then, Fletcher realised. An idea formed in his mind as he remembered the reports of the six tunnels that had been scouted so far. One of them had been deemed completely safe, and was also detailed extensively on Anders's map. He'd wait for the reports from tunnels seven, eight and nine and would see if his idea could be put into place.

In the meantime, he'd begin work on the simplest of the balms he planned to make for Fenris; at least that way he'd have an excuse to start up a conversation with the elf when he was ready. Also, Fletcher found the monotonous action of pounding herbs soothing and distracting; although he suspected he knew the reason for Fenris's fractiousness, still, some of the elf's words had stung him. He went and sat at the mouth of tunnel two – the tunnel he and Anders had agreed warranted further investigation – and took out his crafting materials.

~o~O~o~

When the tunnel scouts returned, and, following the mid-day meal, Fletcher called the dwarves together to report on their findings.

"How was tunnel seven, Bartrand?"

"No good," answered Bartrand dismissively. "There was a collapse."

"It collapsed while you were there? Was anyone hurt?"

"No," Bartrand and his cronies replied, almost in unison, which struck Fletcher as being strange since some of those dwarves had never so much as looked at him, let alone spoken to him. What Fletcher found really peculiar, however, was that there was not a speck of dust on any of them. He nodded slowly, considering the possibility that he was being lied to. "Okay, then," he said evenly.

"Torbal? How about eight and nine?"

"Nine's out, Hawke; we had dust and pebbles raining on us, so I got us out of there quick," said the dust-covered dwarf.

"Good," Fletcher nodded.

"Eight's safe, but it goes on for miles; no telling how far it goes. Might be worth a look, though."

"It's a shame about tunnel seven," Anders said, looking over the warden maps, "as that one goes quite far in. Tunnel eight goes for about two miles before it splits and branches off; after that it's like a maze."

"I think we should split up," Fletcher suggested. "One group takes tunnel two, and the other, tunnel eight."

Anders nodded, shuffling through the maps. "Yes. I recommend we allow a few days to travel through the tunnels, maybe a week to explore, and then I'd say we should all report back here in two weeks?"

"Any objections to that?" Fletcher asked the group, and, when there were none, he called Anders away to speak in private. "Who do we put in each group? There are going to be arguments, aren't there? And who takes the maps? I think you and I should split up so there's a healer in each group."

"You can have the maps, Hawke," Anders replied. "I've looked over them so often I know these tunnels like the back of my hand. I'll take tunnel eight; that's the one that goes down the deepest. If we run into any darkspawn, I'll be able to steer the group away from them, hopefully."

While Anders and Fletcher made plans, Bartrand had taken several of the dwarves, with the exception of Varric, Torbal, Vonim and Thirin, aside, and they were still huddled together when the mages returned.

"We're taking tunnel eight," Bartrand barked at Fletcher. "Everyone get ready."

"Wait," Fletcher said, annoyed that Bartrand had taken it upon himself to choose a tunnel, but then the thought occurred to him that if Bartrand took the dwarves, Fletcher would be able to take almost all of his friends with him. "There are only eleven of you. You need two more so there's an equal split. Anders and Varric will go with you, as they're partners; that way, you'll also have a healer."

"_Partners _were your idea, Human," growled Rasel, "and we don't need no mages."

"You bunch of shit-talking simpletons," Vonim scoffed. "Where d'you think_ I'd_ be if it weren't for the mages?" He clapped Anders's shoulder and glared at Bartrand. "They did a damn fine job of _almost _saving my partner, as well, but I guess he was too far gone, _Bartrand_. You morons wanna be led to your deaths? Be my guest."

Another dwarf, Gaar, stepped forward and pointed at Vonim. "We can't have humans heading up a Deep Roads expedition, Vonim! It ain't right! You gonna be the one to write home and tell 'em two _mages _led us to glory and riches? I wouldn't be able to show my face again! It ain't gonna happen!" He then faced Fletcher. "I'm sorry, Hawke; you're all right, but you shouldn't have been down here in the first place. None of you humans should."

"How's that _leadership _thing going, Nancy Boy?" Bartrand sneered at Fletcher, and some of the dwarves laughed. Fletcher, who did not possess a huge ego, didn't offer a retort. Fenris, however – whose nerves were already stretched thin - had other ideas.

"Take your gaggle of fools, then, and lead them to their doom," the elf spat, unsheathing his sword and walking over to Bartrand, placing the tip of the sword at the dwarf's throat. "And if you _malign_ him again, I shall hasten your introduction to your _Stone_. Begone!"

Bartrand, clearly unnerved, swatted the sword away and stepped back, rubbing his throat. "Get ready," he ordered the other dwarves, his voice wavering slightly. "Take a month's worth of food, just in case we run into trouble. Wouldn't want it said I don't think of people's safety."

"Sodding idiots," Thirin grunted as the group of rebellious dwarves followed Bartrand. "They're all gonna die. And don't think you're having any of our booze!" he shouted after them, receiving a few obscene gestures in return.

"How do _you_ feel about this, Varric?" Fletcher asked the dwarf, his eyes still on Fenris as the elf sheathed his sword and glared at Bartrand's back.

"Ha! Good riddance, I say; this way, I won't be woken up every morning by that asshole's grating voice. I've seen as much of Bartrand as I care to during this expedition."

Fletcher nodded absently and looked down at his friend. "There was no collapse in tunnel seven, was there?"

"That's what I thought, Hawke. If I know my brother, he's found something down there he doesn't want us to see, but I say he's welcome to it. I reckon we'll find something ten times better," he said, slapping Fletcher's arm. "What's the plan then, Hawke?"

Fletcher gathered the remaining workers and he and Anders formulated a plan. His own, personal plan of splitting the group had almost worked perfectly; the new group was slightly larger than he'd wanted, but he hoped Fenris would appreciate there being fewer people around, even if Isabela was among them. The next part of his personal plan was to find somewhere he and Fenris could spend private time, or where Fenris could be alone, if that was what he wanted. Fletcher had anticipated some problems due to lack of privacy, and should have known that Fenris might be the first to show signs of disquiet. He secretly vowed to make Fenris's comfort, and _not _finding treasure or riches, his top priority for the moment.

~o~O~o~

Bartrand's group had taken off before the evening meal, leaving plenty of nug to go around. Sadly, the grog in the bathtub was not yet fit to drink; even Vonim, a hardened drinker, had declared it too rough, and he and Thirin had added a few more ingredients. After Fletcher asked the group's opinion, it was decided that they'd depart the following day after their laundry had dried. Hopefully by then the booze would be drinkable and they'd be able to have a toast to the next leg of their journey.

While Varric, Anders, Sebastian and Torbal started their nightly card game – this time joined by Isabela and Vonim – Fletcher, feeling weary, decided to have an early night. He placed his bedroll a way inside tunnel two, but did not take Fenris's, leaving the elf to decide where he slept. Fenris had taken himself over to the far side of the chamber after supper, during which he'd hardly said a word, and was seemingly engrossed in a book.

Fletcher removed his boots but kept his robe on, and lay down, covering himself with a blanket. Unlike some, whose troubles or problems kept them awake at night, Fletcher's worries exhausted and drained him, and he fell asleep almost as soon as he'd closed his eyes.

He awoke sometime later and listened: all was quiet, and he guessed that everyone else had turned in. He then became aware of quiet breathing from behind him, and he turned onto his back. There, behind him, was Fenris, sat against the wall with his knees drawn up to his chest, and his head bowed. Fletcher squinted, unsure if the elf's eyes were open or closed. He certainly wasn't dressed for bed; he wore his full Guard armour, minus his gauntlets, and he had not brought his bedroll in.

"I am _not _ashamed of being seen with you," Fenris uttered quietly without looking up.

Fletcher exhaled and pushed up onto his elbows, and he watched Fenris for a moment, and how the shadows cast by the flickering fire danced over him. "How long have you been here?" he asked the elf softly.

"I don't know." Fenris moved his head up and rested it against the wall, looking at the opposite wall. "You were snoring when I entered; I did not want to disturb you."

Fletcher brought himself into a sitting position and crossed his legs. "Do you need to talk?"

Fenris hung his head again and sighed. He knew that an apology wouldn't cut it this time; how many times could he say 'sorry' before it became meaningless? No, he would have to explain himself fully, even though he had no idea if Fletcher would accept it this time.

"I understand what you have done," the elf began quietly. "You have decreased the size of the group. I would not be immodest enough to believe that you did that for my sake, but-"

"Of _course_ I did it for you."

Fletcher heard the breath catch in Fenris's throat, and the elf looked up slightly, but not at Fletcher. "I see…in that case, I am grateful."

"Is that…what it was? What was troubling you? Too many people? And I-I can have a word with Isabela, if you like; I know she can be a bit, well, boisterous, sometimes, and you're not used to that. And if you want, I'll try not to hang around you so much," he added with a nervous laugh. "If you need some space, just let me know. I won't be offended."

"Is…that what _you_ want?" Fenris asked uncertainly.

"No, it's not what I want. What _I _want is for _you_ to be happy."

Fenris closed his eyes and sighed heavily.

Fletcher shuffled a little closer to Fenris and cautiously took one of his hands. "I can't make you happy, though, unless you tell me what's making you _un_happy. The _real _reason, Fenris."

"The real reason?" Fenris asked, his eyes wide, knowing he owed it to Fletcher to be completely honest, as much as he feared that this time, Fletcher would finally tire of his neuroses and tell him he simply wasn't worth the bother.

Fletcher nodded, moving over to the wall. "May I sit next you?"

"Of course you may," whispered the elf.

Fletcher settled next to Fenris and mirrored his posture, keeping a hold of his hand. "Come on then; out with it," he encouraged.

After a pause of several minutes, and after shaking his head a few times, Fenris drew a deep breath and turned a little closer to Fletcher. "I feel…pressure," he admitted, but Fletcher, unsure of his meaning, frowned and waited for clarification. "You…" Fenris took another deep breath. "You and I are…becoming…closer, aren't we?" His eyes moved to Fletcher, who nodded and remained silent. "All I can think about is the first time we…" He scowled, angry at himself, and shook his head again.

Fletcher inhaled sharply and then released a shaky breath. "Fenris, I'm so sorry…I never wanted to make you feel pressured. This is _my_ stupid fault, inviting you to watch me bathe! What was I thinking?"

"No." Fenris squeezed Fletcher's hand. "You are _not_ to blame. This…_pressure_ is of my own making. You have been remarkably patient with me…I could not have asked for more from you."

"Look," Fletcher pushed himself up, "forget all of this bath nonsense. Let's take a step back. The last thing I want is for you to feel crowded or pressured or that you _have _to do anything. You _don't_."

"I…don't _want _to take a step back," the elf confessed. "I have _seen _you bathe, and I-I cannot just forget that. You are…a fine-looking man, Fletcher." The shy smile that Fletcher adored returned to Fenris's face, and the elf hung his head again. "It's just…"

"Are you…afraid?" ventured Fletcher gently, stroking Fenris's hand with his thumb.

Fenris shook his head. "I do not fear your touch; I would welcome it, but I fear what an encounter between us would elicit," he said, his voice hushed. "If I were to…re-live or remember something, I-I am afraid that…I would hurt you. When-when _that _woman told me of the content of her story, I was reminded of what we have discussed recently and I felt…I just felt this immense pressure building inside my head." Releasing Fletcher's hand, he rubbed his temples. "I should not have taken it out on you. I should have discussed it with you, but…we were surrounded by people. Had I taken you somewhere private, there would have been catcalls and…"

He swivelled round and fully faced Fletcher. "When we…I do not want anyone else to _know_, to guess. It is not because I am not proud to be seen with you. It is because I believe that such acts should remain private between two people. Perhaps you disagree."

"I don't, Fen. I agree with you completely, and now you've explained how you feel, I think it's even more important that we don't _plan _anything. You'll just have it on your mind all the time. I thought…if we planned it, took it in stages, you might feel more comfortable with that, but I got it wrong. I'm sorry."

"Please, do not apologise," Fenris whispered, laying his head on Fletcher's shoulder. "You were correct in saying that you are not a mind-reader. You are doing your best in difficult circumstances…and with a _very_ difficult elf."

Detecting a hint of wry humour in Fenris's voice, Fletcher said seriously, "Glad to finally hear you admit that; I didn't want to be the one to say it."

"I would not have argued, _had_ you said it," replied the elf, glancing up at Fletcher, and they smiled at each other.

"Makes a change," murmured Fletcher, pulling him close.

"It does," chuckled the elf, before drawing a sharp, deep breath and releasing it quickly; Fletcher recognised something other than a release of tension in that sigh. "We…are alone, now," he said quietly, reaching up to stroke Fletcher's face. "Perhaps-"

"No, Fen. This is not something you should feel you need to get out of the way," Fletcher asserted.

Slowly, Fenris lowered himself to the ground and lay on his back, his hands folded across his belly. "I…_want_ to…get it out of the way. Forgive my choice of words, but I must know if I am capable of…without-" He held a hand out to Fletcher, who reluctantly took it, but did not lie down. "If-if I attempt to hurt you, you would be able to overpower me, or escape."

"I would _never_ overpower you!" Fletcher protested. "And I _know _you wouldn't hurt me. I know, Fen."

"Please," Fenris implored. "I need to know if I am…I need to feel…_normal_. Just for once in my life. I would trust no other but you in this."

Fletcher groaned, feeling pulled in two different directions. He didn't want Fenris to rush into something he wasn't ready for, but how could he turn down a request like that? How could he refuse to help Fenris feel _normal_?

With a sigh, he lay down next to the elf and wrapped his arms around him. Fenris held on tightly and Fletcher could feel the tension in him.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked the elf, lightly kissing his forehead. "_Really_ sure?"

He felt Fenris's arms curl around him and the elf relaxed against him. "I am ready," he whispered against Fletcher's neck.

Fletcher closed his eyes and brought a hand up to stroke Fenris's hair. Fenris was always so conscious of being in control, but, in this situation, Fletcher would also have to rein himself in. This would be the first time Fenris had experienced the sexual act in a loving way.

Fletcher would not take his own pleasure. This was about Fenris.

Fletcher gently rolled Fenris onto his back and brought his hands up to the elf's face, cradling him, and placed a feather-light kiss on Fenris's lips.

"What-what should we do?" Fenris asked hesitantly, his eyes half-closed as Fletcher's warm breath caressed his mouth.

"_We _are not going to do anything, love." Fletcher moved his hand down and took one of Fenris's, slowly moving it to the elf's groin, where he let it rest, bringing his own hand back to Fenris's face. "You are."

"I…don't understand." Fenris's eyes closed as Fletcher's lips again brushed against his and he swallowed hard, his breathing shallow.

"I think you do," Fletcher whispered around another soft kiss.

"You-you want me…?"

"Yes."

Fletcher released Fenris's face and sat up, and slowly pulled his robe above his waist and then over his head, discarding it to the side. He was completely naked beneath and Fenris's mouth fell open, his breath coming out in short bursts as Fletcher reached for Fenris's cuirass and began to loosen the clasps.

"This is all I'm taking off, Fen," he reassured the elf. "Just so you're comfortable." Fenris nodded quickly, relieved and grateful for Fletcher's understanding, and he began to assist the mage.

With Fenris's breastplate removed, Fletcher lay on his side and stroked Fenris's arm, gently pulling him down beside him. He once again took Fenris's hand and moved it to the elf's breeches. "You only have to say the word, Fen, and we'll stop. You're in charge, here, all right?" Fenris nodded again, wordlessly holding Fletcher's gaze.

Fletcher took Fenris's other hand and placed it against his own chest, and an almost pained expression came over the elf as he ran his fingers through the fine, dark hairs on Fletcher's chest.

"Kiss me, Fen," Fletcher susurrated, his voice strained as he fought to stay in control, and he pulled Fenris close, feeling the air rush out of the elf's lungs as they came together. Fenris's free hand roamed the expanse of warm flesh along Fletcher's back, down to his waist and grazing his buttocks, and Fletcher felt Fenris's other hand begin to move as it slipped beneath his breeches.

"That's it, my love," Fletcher whispered, gently kissing Fenris's nose, his thumbs stroking Fenris's face before one of his hands were taken and moved to the waistband of Fenris's breeches.

"Please," beseeched the elf, nipping at Fletcher's mouth; this was the first time Fenris had taken pleasure with another and he was greedy for it, voraciously so, and Fletcher was pulled down for a hungry, demanding kiss, his hand being urgently pushed beneath Fenris's waistband, and Fletcher squeezed his eyes closed and steeled himself when his hand found Fenris's hardness.

"Slowly, love," he cooed.

"No. Please; I _need_ you," Fenris pleaded, desperation in his voice.

"All right, all right," said Fletcher softly, his hand circling Fenris's length, and the elf shuddered, his hands gripping the soft flesh on Fletcher's back. "That's it, Fen, hold me," Fletcher breathed, all of his concentration on Fenris's pleasure as he found a rhythm, and he bit his lip hard, inhibiting a whimper, when Fenris's nails dug into him and warm fluid poured into his hand.

"It's all right," Fletcher panted, stroking the now-limp elf's hair, slowly removing his other hand from Fenris's breeches, feeling the elf push against him as one final spasm rocked Fenris's slender body. "It's all right," he repeated, peppering the elf – his elf - with tiny, soft kisses as Fenris lay trembling and panting beneath him.

One of Fenris's hands jerkily moved to Fletcher's own groin but Fletcher steered it away, laying it over the elf's chest and stroking it. "Shh," Fletcher intoned with a kiss to Fenris's forehead. Fenris mumbled something in protest, but he was too drowsy to raise his hand with Fletcher's covering it.

After a moment, the elf's breathing slowed and he curled against Fletcher's chest, not daring to open his eyes for fear of losing the sensation, the moment, for fear of it all having been a dream. He felt large arms envelop him and he buried his face in the warmth and softness of Fletcher's musky skin.

"How do you feel, Fen?" Fletcher asked, bringing him back from the edge of sleep, but the mage's voice did not jolt him; it was warm and deep and it hummed in his ears, sending a fine tremor along his body.

"I…I feel…" Fenris's breath moistened Fletcher's chest and Fenris nuzzled into it, feeling his body lighten as sleep once again returned to claim him.

"I feel…normal," he slurred softly. "_Normal_. T-thank you, Fletcher. _Thank _you."

Warmth coursed through Fletcher's body and he once again kissed Fenris's forehead, closing his eyes with a huge, indolent smile on his face.

"Goodnight, Fen," he murmured, but Fenris was already asleep.


	55. Chapter 55

_Mary, thank you sincerely for your beta. You've been missed._

_Isabela's shanty is my own (with a little refinement from Mary), but Sebastian, Varric and Fenris's rhymes were taken from utterpants . co. uk and coolfunnypoems . com (and tweaked a little)._

~o~O~o~

When Fletcher reluctantly opened his eyes, the quiet chatter he could hear from the main chamber told him that the new, smaller group was up and about. He stretched out an arm, finding an empty space next to him, and, hearing quiet movements to his left, he shifted beneath the blanket that had been placed over him, along with his robe.

Fenris, who was dressed and fully-armoured, knelt next to the fire, making two mugs of tea from a small cauldron of hot water. He was taking great care not to make any unnecessary noise and Fletcher smiled, knowing from the two mugs that Fenris was about to wake him anyway.

Cringing as the spoon slipped out of his fingers and clattered against one of the mugs, Fenris glanced anxiously over at Fletcher, and was greeted with a wave and a sleepy grin. Fenris nodded and quickly turned away, but not before Fletcher caught a glimpse of flushed cheeks and a toothy grin, which was quickly hidden as Fenris pressed his lips together.

Fletcher sat up, the lower part of his body still covered by the blanket and robe, and watched Fenris finish the tea, the elf's every movement precise and deliberate. Fenris then stood and carried the mugs over to him, placing one down next to Fletcher before kneeling in front of him.

"Tea," said the elf. "And…good morning."

"Good morning," Fletcher smiled, and picked up his mug, blowing on its contents. "Did you sleep well?" he asked, trying to catch Fenris's eye, but the elf's hair hung over his face, not quite obscuring his mouth, which curved upwards slightly at the edges.

Fenris nodded and took a sip of his tea. "I slept as well as I usually do; I awoke several times, but, when I did…_you_ were there." Again, he sipped his drink, the veins in his hands bulging as he gripped the mug tightly, and he glanced at Fletcher briefly, the edges of his eyes crinkling.

"I'll _always_ be there," Fletcher promised softly, scrutinising the elf for any signs of anxiety, tension, regret, and finding none; but that was no guarantee that Fenris did not feel them, and Fletcher prepared himself for that eventuality.

"I need not ask if _you _slept well," said Fenris, a smile in his voice as he set his mug down. "I don't believe you awoke once or changed position the entire night."

"I always sleep like that when I'm happy," answered the mage, inching closer to Fenris. "Are _you_ happy, Fen? Was…everything all right last night?"

Silently, Fenris shuffled closer and, raising his head, he gave Fletcher a look so full of admiration and longing that the mage's breath caught. When Fenris's hands caressed Fletcher's cheeks and he leaned into him, their lips meeting, a quiet moan left the mage's mouth, growing louder when Fenris pulled back, leaving Fletcher bereft and hungry for more.

"Well…that answers _that_," Fletcher chuckled, his own cheeks flushing.

Fenris's eyes moved to the mouth of the tunnel and he listened to the various voices that came from outside. "Last night…you made me feel…" He lowered his head, his eyes hooded, and his fingers stilled against Fletcher's cheeks.

"Normal?" ventured the mage softly.

Fenris rested his forehead against Fletcher's. "Not just normal; much better than that. You…you made me feel…like a person. A living, breathing, _person_. It-it was…wonderful." He moved back slightly and looked over to the tunnel entrance again. "Perhaps…when we are alone again, you will permit me to…return the favour?" he murmured, a hitch in his breath.

Heat surged through Fletcher's core and he swallowed hard, running his hands up and down Fenris's arms. "Uh, well, we'll be going through the tunnel today, so there won't be much opportunity for privacy…will you be all right with that, by the way?" he blathered, cringing as something stirred beneath his blanket. "When-when we get to the next chamber, though, I'll find us somewhere to go…I-I mean, not just for…_that_, but just to talk or to be alone, you know. Um…"

Fenris looked on with amusement, his head cocked to one side, as the mage stuttered his answer. "Shall I take that as a 'yes', then?" asked the elf mischievously, tickled by Fletcher's bumbling.

"Oh, yes…I…" Fletcher started to laugh, amazed that, as someone who used to be able to stroll into a brothel and ask quite plainly for what he wanted, he was now reduced to a gibbering fool by a quiet, unassuming elf. "I mean…well, that would be lovely. Nice. I mean…oh, bloody hell, what's _wrong_ with me?"

Fenris, also laughing, brought his hands to rest on Fletcher's shoulders as the mage pulled him close. "Nothing," Fenris uttered quietly, kissing the top of Fletcher's head, his hands sliding down the mage's bare shoulder blades, feeling Fletcher's warm lips brush against his throat. "There is nothing wrong at all." Fenris then abruptly released Fletcher and stood up. "I-I think you should clothe yourself," he advised, snatching their mugs and hurrying over to the fire. "You will catch cold."

"_Cold_, eh?" Fletcher grinned, trying to glimpse Fenris's front, but the shrewd elf had his back to him. "Yes, good idea, Fen," he said, slipping his robe over his head. "Before we _both _catch cold."

The elf gave no reply, save a low chuckle, almost – but not completely - dismissed by the clearing of his throat.

~o~O~o~

When they emerged, breakfast had been started by Thirin and Sheldon, and Vonim and Torbal had already started on the grog, which had been deemed fit to drink by the dwarves.

"Isn't it a little early for that?" Fletcher laughed as an overflowing mug was thrust into his hand.

"You humans and your sodding etiquette!" Vonim scoffed. "You gotta have a bracer with breakfast! We're late by Orzammar standards; we've already wasted a couple of hours of good drinkin' time! Now, get it down you, Mage!" A further mug was passed to Fenris, who sniffed at the contents and frowned.

"After you," Fenris invited, an eyebrow twitching. "You _are _our leader, after all."

With a sour look at the elf, Fletcher raised the mug to his mouth and screwed his eyes closed as he took a gulp of the cloudy, grey-brown liquid.

"Nyeargh!" He shuddered, the spray that burst from his mouth narrowly missing Fenris. "My-my throat feels like it's on fire!" he gasped, rubbing his windpipe, and then his eyes moved to Fenris, whose smug smile rapidly melted away. "_Your _turn, Elf," Fletcher rasped.

With a quiet sigh and a solemn nod, Fenris brought the mug to his lips, suddenly aware that several pairs of eyes were on him. As he took the noxious-smelling liquid into his mouth, his expression stayed impassive, and Vonim, who'd expected Fenris to react as Fletcher had, laughed and nodded his approval, impressed by the elf's stoicism.

"Interesting flavour," Fenris calmly commented before knocking back the remainder of the mug's contents.

"_Interesting_? It tastes like bloody lava!" Fletcher croaked, his voice cracking.

"I rather like it," Fenris replied with a small smile, holding his mug out for a refill.

"The elf approves!" Vonim loudly announced, and a small queue formed next to the bathtub; the only other ones not partaking were Anders and Sebastian, who joined Fletcher and Fenris.

"At least have something to eat, first!" Anders warned the workers, his advice falling on deaf ears. "Hawke, we have a lot do to, today; we've got to get the equipment and food into the tunnel," he said to Fletcher.

"Ah, let them have a bit of fun," Fletcher answered with a wave of his hand. "I'd rather have relaxed workers than quarrelsome or tense ones. So long as a _few _of us stay in control," he said with a sly look at Fenris, who was finishing his second mug. Wiping his mouth, Fenris smiled blearily at Fletcher, who grabbed the mug from him and pointed over to where Thirin was frying sausages. "No more for you until you've lined your stomach."

"Fine, _Master of the Grog_," the elf grumbled with a surly glare, but Fletcher, who by now knew the difference between serious-surly Fenris and pretend-surly Fenris, laughed after the elf as he stalked away.

"Not drinking, fellas?" Varric queried, walking over to them with Isabela.

"Have you actually _tasted_ it, Varric?" Fletcher asked, and the dwarf answered by raising his mug to the mage before knocking the contents back. Fletcher shook his head. "You're all insane," he accused.

Isabela stepped forward, having brought two mugs with her. "Anders? Sebastian? Can I tempt you?"

Anders briefly looked up from his maps and quickly shook his head before turning away. Sebastian, however, was more courteous. "Alas, madam, I do not partake of alcoholic beverages," he said with a warm smile.

"Ah well," she said to Varric, "more for you and me, I guess. And will you stop calling me bloody madam?" she scolded Sebastian. "I'm not an old maid yet, you know!"

"Forgive me; how _should_ I address you?" asked the archer, and Isabela's eyes lit up.

"Now _there's _an invitation. Call me whatever you like, handsome. I…could give you a few suggestions, if you'd like?"

"Careful, Sebastian," warned Fletcher. "She used to call _me _handsome."

"_That _was before I knew about you and Fenris," she laughed, glancing over at the elf, who was filling two plates for him and Fletcher. "I wouldn't dare encroach on his territory…not unless you two feel like experimenting?" she added with a wink.

"We don't, but thanks all the same," Fletcher replied good-naturedly, while Anders shook his head and walked away, still engrossed in his maps. Fletcher caught a fleeting look of irritation in Isabela's eyes before her smirk returned and she sidled closer to Sebastian.

"Call me anything you like, Blue Eyes," she invited. "Peaches, Sweetcheeks, anything along those lines."

"How about 'Isabela'?" Sebastian suggested with a laugh.

"You _could _call me that at a pinch, I suppose," she answered with a mock-pout, shoving the mugs of grog into Fletcher's hands and crooking her arm. "How would you like to escort me over to Thirin for some breakfast?"

Sebastian bowed and took her arm and they walked away, with Isabela shooting another wink over her shoulder at Fletcher. "What am I supposed to do with these?" he complained, holding up the mugs.

"I will trade you one for a plate of food," offered Fenris, who had snuck up behind Fletcher. Fletcher turned around, seeing that pretend-surly Fenris now wore a crafty smile.

"Deal," answered the mage. "But you're not drinking it until you've eaten."

"Yes, _Father_," Fenris joked as they exchanged plate and mug, and Fletcher burst out laughing.

"Now, now, don't get having a domestic," Varric teased. "Guess I'd better get _myself_ some grub before there's none left. Later," he said with a nod, and went over to Thirin, alone. Fletcher watched him walk away, feeling a sudden pang of sadness as it occurred to him that Varric was without his Sunshine, and he wondered how the dwarf was feeling about that.

"Fen, I'll be over in a bit," he told the elf. "I just need to speak to Varric for a minute."

Fenris went over to his and Fletcher's spot just outside tunnel two, while Fletcher moved over to the dwarf and stood next to him as he piled his plate with bacon, bread and dried fruits.

"Don't tell me you've eaten that already, Hawke," said Varric, cocking an eyebrow when he noticed that Fletcher's plate was still full.

"Oh, no, not really," Fletcher mumbled casually. "I was just thinking about Mother and Beth, wondering how they were getting on, you know."

Varric grinned up at his friend. "Feeling homesick, Hawke?"

Fletcher shrugged. "I haven't really given it much thought; we've been so busy, but now things have settled down a bit, I have been thinking about them. How about you?"

Realising what Fletcher was doing, Varric chuckled to himself. "Well, sure, I've been thinking about Sunshine, but I won't get maudlin, Hawke; just remember why we're down here in the first place: to give her and your ma a better life. Just imagine their faces when you buy them that mansion and those fancy clothes," he smiled.

Fletcher returned his smile, before his expression turned pensive. "Do you _really _think there are fabulous riches to be had down here, Varric? Honestly?"

"Hard to say, Hawke. So far, all we've encountered are dusty chambers, but we're not far in, yet. I guess if nothing turns up I could claim ownership of the caves and rent them out? What do you think?"

"You didn't have much luck doing that with Petrice's safehouse, did you?" Fletcher teased.

"Hey, we just had a little setback with that, Hawke, that's all. Aveline said she'd hold off the Chantry until we return, so I'm still optimistic."

"Varric, the property tycoon," Fletcher laughed.

"Oh, I'm not greedy, Hawke; I'll settle for owning just half of Kirkwall," replied the dwarf. "With you as my agent, of course."

"I'll certainly consider it, if we _don't _all become stinking rich."

"There's _one _thing I wanna find down here, though, and I won't leave without it," Varric vowed.

"Oh? And what's that?"

"I'll tell you when I find it," said the dwarf mysteriously, and he began to walk away from Hawke.

"Wait! Tell me what it is, and I'll keep an eye out!" Fletcher offered, intrigued by Varric's reticence, but the dwarf shook his head and refused to elaborate, despite Fletcher's threats to incessantly pester him.

~o~O~o~

After a leisurely breakfast - and at Anders's insistence - Fletcher rallied the workers into action, although progress was slow as their wits had been somewhat dulled by the grog. Eventually, the group moved into the tunnel, each worker further slowed by the tools and provisions they carried. After a few hours of foot-slogging, the workers started to tire – as well as sober up – and Fletcher called a halt for a break.

Tea was brewed up, and the remainder of the booze – which most of the workers had filled their waterskins with – was imbibed. A lackadaisical mood settled over the group which, to Anders's irritation, Fletcher did nothing to discourage.

"We _need_ to get going, Hawke," he urged as he paced back and forth.

"Why? What's the hurry? Why are you so on edge?" Fletcher asked, taking him aside.

"I don't know…just a feeling. I feel…uncomfortable."

Fletcher glanced back at the group and lowered his voice. "Are you sensing darkspawn, Anders?"

Anders sighed and shook his head. "I don't know. It's been a long time and I'm not sure _what_ it is I can feel. I just…I need to get out of this tunnel. Please."

"All right, Anders." Fletcher laid a hand on Anders's shoulder and turned back to the group. "Come on; we've had long enough to rest. Let's get going."

Amid a few groans, the workers got to their feet.

"This reminds me of the grog my boys used to brew up on the Siren's Call," Isabela said with a wistfulness Fletcher hadn't heard before as she drank the last of her booze.

"Ah…that was your ship?" Fletcher asked from behind her.

"Yes," she sighed, wriggling as she struggled with her heavy pack. "We had some good times aboard her."

"May I carry that for you?" Sebastian offered, reaching for her pack, and she startled, sending it to the ground with a loud thump.

"What have you _got _in there?" Fletcher asked, moving next to her.

"Oh, nothing!" she exclaimed with a nervous laugh, hastily grabbing the pack and hefting it over her shoulder; Fletcher caught sight of a large, square-shaped object bulging through it.

"Isabela, if you have anything unnecessary in there, you need to leave it behind," Fletcher said sternly. "We have enough stuff to carry as it is."

"It-it's a book," she stammered, her cheeks reddening. "A very old book of sea shanties. It's the only thing I managed to salvage from the shipwreck and I won't part with it. I'll manage, Hawke," she said with determination.

"All right," he sighed. "But if you're having trouble with it, let someone else carry it."

"I'll be fine, Hawke, but thanks for the offer," she replied, keeping a tight grip of the straps of the pack. "Well!" she chirped, eager to change the subject. "How about I sing you all a shanty, put a spring in our steps, eh?"

Receiving an enthusiastic response from the group, she glanced through her lashes at Sebastian. "Might want to cover your ears for _this_ one, my handsome Chantry lad."

"I'm sure it contains nothing I haven't heard before," he answered with an easy grin.

"Is that so?" She winked at him and cleared her throat as the group got underway. "This is called 'Ode to sweet Fanny'."

"Ode to someone's sweet ass?" Torbal shouted up the tunnel.

"'Fanny' has quite a _different_ meaning where I come from," said Fletcher, wiggling his eyebrows, and some of the humans sniggered.

"No, you dolts! Not _that _kind of fanny! It's a woman's name!" Isabela groaned, rolling her eyes. "Now, pay attention!" She cleared her throat again.

"_There once was a sailor named Jack 'Woody' Naylor  
>And how did he come by his nickname, asks thee?<br>I'll tell thee a story t'in parts be quite gory  
>And serves as a warning to them's new to the sea.<em>

_Bein' on his last voyage, then home to the missus,  
>Ol' Jack was a-wishin they'd about turn and flee<br>'Cause his wifey awaitin' had him damn near to faintin'  
>Bein' cold as a blizzard and cruel as the sea.<em>

_Too many long years he'd steered that ol' tugboat  
>With her crow's nest unkempt and as sour as a pickle<br>Her riggin' had slackened and had long headed southward  
>An' her waters had dried to nary a trickle."<em>

Some of the workers laughed and those whose hands were free, clapped along with Isabela's singing.

"…_Ol' Jack knew he'd be needin' to please 'er  
>Upon his return to the marital home<br>With his heart in his boots, he sat on the poop  
>An' took out his last ration o' sweet golden foam.<em>

_He chugged at the nectar 'til long after sundown  
>And, loaded to the gills, he lurched to his feet<br>He took a last stroll to the bow o' the vessel  
>Where he met with a sight that he'd not soon forget.<em>

_For there was a maiden as fair as the mornin'  
>Her hair was a curtain o' gleamin' spun silver<br>Her futtocks were trim an' her bridge, pert and fulsome  
>An' her fender was round and had Jack all-a-quiver.<em>

_Jack soon got the horn in the face o' this beauty  
>An' asked her by what name she 'ferred to be called<br>With a wink and a leer, she beckoned him near  
>An' told him that <em>Fanny_ left no man blue-balled._

'_I love thee, sweet Fanny!' ol' Jack did declare  
>His trousers, amidships, pulled down to his knees<br>With a tug of his pants, his beam at half-mast  
>Ran aground, finding naught but the tangy sea breeze.<em>

'_You've no bloody hatch, wench!' Jack dourly exclaimed  
>An' reached into his pocket, pullin' out his pen knife<br>With which he did scuttle, and carved out a niche  
>Then he took his young Fanny as a man would his wife."<em>

"The dirty bastard!" Fletcher laughed, and Sebastian shook his head, but was smiling.

"…_With the deed done, ol' Jack fell, groggy and spent  
>His seamen all scattered, an officer's mess<br>His satisfied slumber was gi'en the heave-ho  
>When the Cap'n demanded that ol' Jack confess:<em>

'_What have ye done to our masthead?' cried he  
><em>_Then spotted that somethin' 'bout Jack was amiss  
>Though angered, he called for the doctor then warned,<br>'After treatment, ol' Jack, ye'll be keel-hauled fer this!'_

_But the Cap'n took pity when apprised o' Jack's fate  
>'Cause the poor man was splintered from bulkhead to balls<br>And with medicine harsh, and a ruined half-mast  
>Ol' Jack bore the unkindest cut of 'em all!"<em>

Isabela laughed as several members of the group winced, but was glad to see that her ditty had been well-received. "Well?" she asked Sebastian, surprised that he didn't look as outraged, or embarrassed, as she'd expected.

"Very amusing, Isabela. It might surprise you to learn that_ I_ know a few bawdy limericks, myself. Would you care to hear one?"

"_This _oughta be good," Varric muttered to Fletcher.

Isabela halted and folded her arms, a cheeky grin on her face. "_Please."_

"_The sea captain's tender young bride  
>Fell into the bay at low tide.<br>One could tell by her squeals,  
>That some of the eels<br>Had discovered a good place to hide."_

Silence and stunned stares accompanied the end of Sebastian's limerick, before a few quiet chuckles turned into guffaws. Soon, everyone was laughing, some in disbelief.

"Sebastian! Wher_ever_ did those eels hide?" Isabela asked saucily.

"Why, in her petticoats, of course," he answered, feigning innocence. "Where else?"

"Choirboy," Varric walked over to Sebastian, extending his hand. "Very few things leave me speechless, but that was one of them. Put it there." Sebastian shook his hand and laughed. "Hey, Choirboy. Do you know the one about the elven sailor from the Dales? The one with the jar?"

"Aye; I heard that one on the way over here from Starkhaven. Although…I couldn't possibly recite it in front of a lady."

"Do you _see_ any ladies here?" an indignant Isabela challenged, hands on hips.

For a moment, Sebastian looked about to relent, but he shook his head. "I'm sorry; I can't," he chuckled.

"I'll tell it, then," Varric volunteered. "Hey, listen up, Broody! You might like this one," he called, and Fenris, who was further up the tunnel, stopped and listened to the dwarf.

"_There was an old cove from the Dales,  
>An expert at pissing in gales;<br>From the top gallant spar, he'd piss in a jar,  
>Without ever wetting the sails.<em>

"Whaddy'a think, Elf? You like that one?"

"And why would I, in particular, enjoy a tale about a man whose only talent was urinating into a jar?"

"Well, because he was an elf, Elf! And an elf with a special talent, at that!"

"I would rather _not _be known for a 'talent' like _that_," Fenris scoffed.

"How about an elf with a talent for rhymes, then?" Varric asked as Fenris's eyes narrowed slightly. "No? Ah, such a shame. I guess it was too much to ask." Varric sighed dramatically, hanging his head for good measure as he walked ahead.

"One moment, Dwarf," Fenris spoke in a commanding voice, and his eyes moved to his side as he thought for a minute. He then walked over to Varric and stopped in front of him. "'I am a dog, and you are a flower. I raise my leg, and give you a shower'. Does that please you? Am I…'talented', now?" Without waiting for an answer, he turned and headed back to join Fletcher, who was doubled up with laughter.

"You asked for that, Varric!" Fletcher chortled, and the stunned dwarf could only gawk and nod in agreement.

Now in high spirits, the group made good time through the tunnel, and after another, longer break for a meal, they reached the next chamber just as the sun would be setting up on the surface.

The new chamber was huge, with no fewer than fourteen tunnels running off it, as well as several small antechambers and recesses. "Hey, Fen," Fletcher whispered as they looked around. "We'll have to go exploring later on, find that little quiet place for us, yes?"

Fenris nodded and smiled up at Fletcher. "I will begin now, while you and Anders prepare the fires."

"Eager, aren't you?" Fletcher teased with a nudge to his arm.

"Actually," the elf whispered, "I need to 'water the flowers'. Quite urgently."

"Fair enough!" sniggered Fletcher. "Do you need a jar? You could impress Varric with your accuracy."

"If you keep me talking, there won't be a jar large enough," Fenris replied impatiently, fidgeting on the spot, and he passed Fletcher his torch. "Excuse me."

Fletcher beamed as he watched the elf scurry away towards a small tunnel, overjoyed to see his sense of humour breaking through. "Don't go too far in!" he warned the elf. "We don't know if it's safe, yet."

"That is no longer a consideration," Fenris called back, his voice strained as he halted at the tunnel entrance and fumbled with his breeches, frowning over his shoulder. "Shoo!"

"I'm going!" Fletcher walked away, laughing, hearing the hiss of water hitting rock, and a long, relieved groan from behind him.

~o~O~o~

Once the fires had been lit, and the equipment and provisions stored, the workers started to prepare supper and find their sleeping spots for the night. Fenris had found a small, L-shaped antechamber that he judged suitable for their purposes, offering adequate privacy for undressing, if not for returning of _favours_. While he moved his and Fletcher's belongings into it, Fletcher sought out Anders, who was reconnoitring the various exits from the chamber.

"How are you feeling now?" he quietly asked his fellow healer.

Anders considered his answer for a moment before sighing. "I still don't feel right, Hawke. I can't even explain it; I just…I feel like something bad's going to happen."

Alarmed, Fletcher steered Anders further away from the group. "How do you mean? Something bad? Like what?"

"I'm sorry, Hawke, I just don't know." He looked up to the ceiling of the chamber and his posture slumped. "I feel…trapped. I keep getting urges to just run out of here up to the surface." He fidgeted and scratched the back of his neck. "Don't worry, though; it's a fleeting thing. I'm not going to crack up on you or anything," he added with a hollow laugh that Fletcher didn't return.

"Have you had feelings like this before, Anders? Could you be claustrophobic?"

Anders's eyes flitted over to the main body of the group, who paid them no attention. "The only other time I felt like this was when I was in solitary," he whispered.

Fletcher nodded calmly, although his stomach dropped. "And what about Justice? Have you been…communicating with him?"

Anders shook his head. "Justice has been unusually quiet since we came down here…it's a strange feeling, but I suppose nothing has happened to stir him."

"Are you going to be all right?" Fletcher asked him, a nervous flutter in his stomach.

"I might just be tired. You and I discussed the possibility that some of us might get the jitters when we're deep underground, and, according to the maps, we're about half a mile below ground level. All that solid rock above us…not really the stuff of bedtime stories, is it?"

"No." Fletcher placed a hand on Anders's shoulder. "Do you and Varric sleep close together? Fenris and I were going to go over there," he said, pointing to where the elf was puttering outside the antechamber, "but we can sit with you tonight, if you'd like some company. Fenris won't mind."

"No, that won't be necessary, Hawke," he replied, forcing a smile. "Varric will be close by. Maybe…maybe I need an early night. Think I'll turn in after supper. I appreciate your concern, though. Do you want to give me a hand with the wards?"

"I will in a minute, Anders," replied Fletcher, looking at Varric, who, as usual, had found something else to do when the rest of the group was hard at work: he was polishing Bianca in a corner, discreetly observing the others. "I'm just going to have a word with Varric."

"You don't need to tell him to look after me, Hawke," Anders said with a genuine smile.

"Who said anything about that? I'm going to consult with my fellow investor, that's all," replied Fletcher, also smiling as he walked over to the dwarf.

"How are things, Varric?" Fletcher asked, squatting down next to the dwarf, who nodded at the group.

"The Rivaini. Does she seem a little…skittish to you, Hawke?"

Fletcher frowned and glanced over at Isabela, who was also avoiding doing any real work by entertaining the workers with tales of her life at sea. "Skittish? What do you mean?"

"Well, since she dropped her pack and said something about that book; I know her a little better than you do, Hawke, and that wasn't a normal reaction for her at all. She's as smooth as a mage's bottom when explaining her way out of things, and she was about as smooth as a _dwarf's_ hairy ass when asked about her book."

"What's that brain of yours up to?" Fletcher laughed.

"I wanna get a look at that book. I hear she's writing a story about a certain mage and a certain elf and I want to check out my competition. When she's asleep, I'll take a peek."

"And does that mean I'll get a peek at this story _you're_ writing about me, Fenris and Anders? The _love triangle_?"

Varric's eyes slowly moved over to his young mage friend, and one edge of his mouth twitched. "Sunshine?"

"Sunshine."

"I'll have to have a little _talk_ with Sunshine when we get back," Varric muttered humorously.

"Don't change the subject, Dwarf. Are you going to let me read it, or not?"

Varric sighed and idly rubbed his jaw. "Okay, but…I wouldn't advise letting the elf read it."

"Don't tell me you've put him and Anders together. _Please _don't tell me that. Do you _know _what he'd do to you if he found out?"

"Look, Hawke; if you're not gonna like the contents, don't read it," teased the dwarf.

"Luckily for you, I promised Fenris I wouldn't keep any more secrets from him, so I guess I'll give it a miss." Fletcher pushed himself up as his knees were aching, and stretched his arms. "Listen; will you do me a favour, Varric? Keep an eye on Anders for me. I think he's feeling a little twitchy down here. I'm going to watch him as well, but if you spot anything untoward, will you let me know?"

"Count on it, Hawke," promised Varric, also pushing up to his feet. "Well, I'd better do my share and help out with supper."

"Very generous of you, considering it's almost done." Fletcher shook his head, feigning disapproval, but couldn't help smiling.

"Didn't see _you_ helping out, Hawke," Varric answered with a winsome grin as they walked over to the giant pot of stew that had been prepared.

"_I'm_ seeing to everyone's wellbeing, which is just as important as cooking…and polishing Bianca, apparently. _Again_."

"Polishing Bianca is of vital import to our mission," claimed the dwarf. "You wanna be the one facing down one of those blackspawn thingies when Bianca decides to lock up because she hasn't been getting the proper attention? You want me help out with the cooking at the expense of Bianca's upkeep? Fine. Your funeral, Mage."

"You're nothing but a knave and a cad, you know that?"

"Why, thank you, my friend," Varric replied with a sweeping bow, and they moved into line for their supper, still chuckling.

~o~O~o~

Full and sleepy after supper, most of the expedition workers settled down for the night, though a small group stayed up, sitting around the fire in the main chamber. Anders showed no sign of relaxing; in fact, he'd appeared to become more tense, but Varric assured the concerned Fletcher that he'd do his best to settle Anders, and would stay awake until Anders fell asleep.

Fletcher and Fenris bedded down in their little antechamber, and, after talking for a while, and a fair amount of petting – which Fenris called a halt to when Fletcher let out an involuntary moan loud enough to be heard outside – they wrapped arms and blankets around each other and drifted off to sleep.

"Hawke! Hawke! Wake up! Quickly! You too, Elf!"

"Uh? Whassat?" Fletcher blinked several times, rubbing his eyes to focus his vision, finding an agitated-looking Varric leaning over him, who wore nothing but a pair of braies. Fenris moved rather more quickly, and was up on his feet, sword at the ready, before Fletcher managed to sit up.

"It's Blondie! Come quickly! There's something wrong with him!" Varric ran out of the chamber, and, after pulling Fletcher up by his arm, Fenris – already clothed in shirt and leggings - quickly followed.

Woozy from the rush of blood to his head, Fletcher hurriedly threw his robe on and jogged to where Varric and Fenris stood over Anders, who was shouting out in his sleep. A small crowd of awakened workers gathered round, making way for Fletcher as he arrived.

"I can't wake him, Hawke!" Varric hissed, grabbing Anders by the shoulder and shaking him. "Blondie! Blondie! Can you do anything, Hawke?"

"Leave him alone, you bastards!" Anders wailed as he thrashed around.

"Get rid of them, Varric," Fletcher muttered, crouching down next to his stricken friend. "Fen, I'm going to cast; move back, please."

Fenris paused for a moment before nodding and retreating to the antechamber, realising that Fletcher and Anders would want some privacy, but he watched closely from a distance.

"Okay, everyone; nothing to see here," Varric announced confidently. "Kid's having a bad dream, that's all. Back to bed. Off you go." Slowly at first, the small crowd dispersed, hastened by Fletcher's stern, protective glance at them.

"Anders," he whispered, placing his hands on Anders's brow, and he recited a reverse sleep spell, murmuring soothing words as Anders stopped moving and slumped in his arms. Anders's eyelids twitched a few times and then flew open, and he shot up into a sitting position, grabbing Fletcher roughly by the shoulders.

"Ruben!" he cried, pulling Fletcher against him and holding onto him for dear life. "I'm so, _so _sorry! Please, don't ever leave me again! I won't let them hurt you, I swear!"

"Anders…it's me, _Fletcher_," the mage whispered, frowning deeply as Anders wept against his shoulder. "Shh. It's all right; you had a nightmare. You're _safe_."

Although gravely concerned, Varric backed away and walked over to stand beside Fenris. They exchanged a glance before turning their attention back to the mages; most of the other members of the group were also watching, but did so from their beds. Sebastian, who had slept in the mouth of a tunnel, stood there but kept out of sight of the mages, not wanting to intrude.

"H-Hawke?" Anders pulled away, wiping his eyes, and caught his breath before his eyes widened again and he started to pant. "They're here, Hawke!" he cried, and Fletcher placed a finger to his own lips, stroking Anders's hair with his other hand.

"Who, Anders? The darkspawn?" he whispered.

Anders nodded quickly, taking several deep breaths.

"Where? How far?"

"I-I need to…" Still panting, Anders scrambled for his maps and glanced around the chamber, his eyes eventually settling on a wall facing in a south-westerly direction. "That way," he said, and closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Shit…I didn't think…so soon…I-I can't…"

"Anders," Fletcher said firmly, grabbing him by the arms. "How far?"

Anders gulped and attempted to focus on the maps, and, after a minute, he sighed and his head fell back. "We're all right…but they're heading in the direction of Bartrand's party. I don't know how far in they are, but the darkspawn will have reached the chamber they're heading for by morning."

"How many, Anders?"

"I don't know. I-I'm not a veteran warden…maybe twenty of them? But that's just a guess."

"Well done, Anders," Fletcher said, assisting him to his feet. "I need your help. Do you feel up to it?"

Anders quickly nodded and grabbed his staff. Fletcher then led him over to where Varric and Fenris stood.

"Darkspawn," Fletcher said quietly to the dwarf. "They're heading for Bartrand's party; we need to warn them, and fast."

"Oh, crap," Varric grumbled, slapping his forehead. "They already have a day's head start on us, you know. Will we get to them in time?"

"We have until morning, according to Anders," Fletcher replied. "We won't be carrying any equipment and they will hopefully have stopped once they reached the chamber on the map. With any luck, it'll take us no longer than four or five hours to reach them. It'll be tight, but we have to try."

"We'll need everyone who is able to fight," Anders added. "I'll do my best to protect them from the taint, but they must be warned about it; I won't force anyone to come."

"I will see to that," Fenris offered, walking over to Sebastian's tunnel.

"I'll go and rustle up some dried food and stuff," said Varric, and he moved away from the mages.

"I'm sorry about that, Hawke," Anders said with a weary sigh.

"Don't be silly. You warned me about this. I'm very grateful you're here, Anders; don't apologise for potentially saving our lives, or the lives of Bartrand's party."

Anders nodded and hung his head. "I just hope we're in time; I know Bartrand's an arse, but I wouldn't wish the taint on anyone."

Fletcher patted Anders's back. "Are you all right now?"

"Yes," answered Anders, though the look in his eyes told Fletcher he was still troubled.

"Anders…I hope you don't mind me asking, but…who's Ruben?"

The colour drained from Anders's face and for a moment a look of panic gripped him. "No one," he answered briskly, clearing his throat. "I…I'd better get my clothes on." He walked away from Fletcher in a daze, and Fletcher was snapped out of his reverie by a nudge to his arm.

"Crewman Isabela reporting for duty, Cap'n!" the pirate, who had quickly dressed, cheerfully announced with a salute. "Ooh…can I be your first mate? Oh, go on. Please."

Fletcher shook his head and laughed, in spite of himself. "I think Fenris will designate himself first mate, but you can be my best boy if you like, or best girl."

She grabbed Fletcher's arm and squeezed it. "I like the sound of that…Hawke's Best Girl. I still haven't entirely given up on you, you know. Even if you no longer have a beard. Did I ever tell you I like beards?"

"Sebastian has a beard, and so does Anders," he reminded her, and she grinned. "Do you know any more amusing sea shanties, Isabela? I have a feeling we're going to need to be cheered up before the night is out."

"I know plenty, don't you worry." She slipped her arm through Fletcher's and led him over to the antechamber where he and Fenris had slept. "Need a hand putting your boots on?" she offered.

"No, but they need a hand over there," he said, pointing to where Fenris and Sebastian were rousing some of the workers. "Sebastian's there, and _he_ has a beard."

"So he does! All right, then, off I go. I'll be back to check on you if you take too long," she promised, and turned around with a flourish, heading over to the men.

"Whose bright idea was it to split the fucking group up? You idiot!" Fletcher berated himself, before shaking his head and going in search of his boots.

~o~O~o~

After a small team was assembled, Fletcher, along with Fenris, Anders, Varric, Sebastian, Isabela, Vonim - and two of the humans who had encountered darkspawn before, Bartley and Marston – set off down tunnel two, this time unimpeded by equipment. Thirin and Torbal were left in charge, having been assured by Anders that no darkspawn were headed in their direction.

They made fast progress, and, after stopping for a five-minute toilet and drink break, Anders guessed that they were nearing the entrance. Fenris and Vonim scouted ahead, their weapons drawn, even though Anders had assured them that they were in no immediate danger.

"What the fuck?" Vonim growled from up ahead, and Fletcher's group halted for a split second before quickening their paces.

"Fletcher!" Fenris called, and, as they rounded a corner in the tunnel, the group halted again, their mouths gaping open as one.

Their exit from the tunnel was completely blocked by countless boulders, and dust rose from the pile, which reached all the way up to the ceiling.

"This can't be!" Varric cried, charging over to the collapse. "Blondie and I scouted this tunnel with two of the dwarves! They said it was completely safe!"

"Get back," Fletcher warned, striding over to Fenris, but Vonim ignored him and carefully examined the pile.

"This happened recently," the dwarf determined, his expression grim. "I remember Bartrand discussing this tunnel; said it was the safest of the lot. This _shouldn't_ have happened."

"Can we get around it? Through it?" Fletcher asked.

Vonim slowly shook his head. "These rocks have been _packed _together. If we try and move 'em, the whole lot could come down on our heads."

"What do you _mean_, packed together?" Fenris demanded. "You almost make it sound deliberate."

"I'm not _almost _anything, Elf," Vonim replied, his nostrils flaring. "If this collapse had occurred naturally, there would have been a lot more loose debris. These rocks have been _placed _here, and the ceiling brought down on top of 'em."

"Are you saying this was done _deliberately_?" exclaimed Fletcher.

"No doubt about it, son," Vonim groaned. "Whoever did this – and you wouldn't need to be a genius to figure out _who_ – didn't want us to leave this tunnel."

"Fuck!" shouted Varric as the rest of the group stood in appalled silence. "_Fuck!"_


	56. Chapter 56

_Thank you to Mary for your beta, and to those of you still reviewing the story._

~o~O~o~

"That bastard! I should have known he'd pull a stunt like this!" Varric covered his face with his hands, shook his head and turned away from the group, which was staring, open-mouthed, at the collapse.

"But…he's your _brother_! Surely even _he_ wouldn't do a thing like that? Not to you?" Fletcher asked in disbelief, feeling his heart drop into his boots.

"I'm precisely the one he's done it to, Hawke," Varric replied quietly, a slight waver in his voice as he turned back to his friend. "Damn, I'm sorry. All of you. I _never _should have involved you all in our stupid rivalry! I never should have brought you down here!" He shook his head again, and Sebastian moved to his side, placing a consoling hand on the dwarf's shoulder.

"Don't blame yourself, Varric; I was the one who split the parties up," Fletcher murmured, standing apart from the others.

Vonim stomped forward and waved a chunky finger. "Hey, no one is to blame but that stone-humper Bartrand!"

"Quite right," agreed Fenris as he glowered at the pile of rocks. Then, seeing Fletcher's dejected posture, he decided that action needed to be taken, and he walked over to Anders, who was staring into space. "We have the maps, do we not?"

"Anders!" he barked when the mage didn't reply.

Anders jumped and blinked several times before fumbling through his pockets and producing the maps, which had started to tear under his constant handling. He looked at them in a daze, and, with an impatient huff, Fenris snatched them from him and examined them.

"We are here," he said, pointing to their current location and moving his finger along several paths leading from the main chamber from where they'd come. "What does this say?" he asked Anders, pointing at a blank section.

"Um…'uncharted'," mumbled Anders with a quick glance at the map.

"'Uncharted'? How can that be? There is another section here," he said, pointing further up the map, "which seems to be attached to where we are. Why has no one documented the missing part?"

"I don't know, do I? I didn't draw the bloody thing!"

"Well, is there a blockage, or a crevasse, or some other reason we cannot pass?" demanded Fenris.

"I _told_ you, I don't know!" Anders snapped as Fletcher moved beside the elf.

"What are you thinking, Fen?" he asked.

Fenris squatted down and placed the maps on the ground, fitting them together like pieces of a jigsaw. "The section we're in is linked to the other section by way of this tunnel," he said, pointing it out. "It ultimately leads to another Deep Roads entrance." He then glanced up at Anders. "At least, I assume that is what this symbol denotes, as it matches the one at the place through which we entered?" Anders sighed and also crouched down, confirming Fenris's hypothesis with a nod. Fenris traced a route with his finger. "This appears to be our likeliest means of escape. What does this say? Where is this?" he asked Anders, indicating the other Deep Roads entrance.

"That entrance is at the edge of the Planasene Forest, not far from Cumberland," Anders answered.

"Where's that? How long would it take us to get there?" Fletcher asked Anders, who shrugged dejectedly.

A sigh came from Varric. "At least six weeks above ground, Hawke, and probably longer down here; that is, if we don't run into any _more_ problems along the way."

"So, you do not _know_ what this is?" Fenris asked Anders again, pointing to the blank section of map.

"How many more times?" Anders exclaimed angrily. "I don't know! Do _you_? Why should _I _know the answer to everything?"

"Gentlemen," Sebastian chided, "this is solving nothing. If that way is indeed our best chance, we should take it without delay. We're all shocked and not thinking straight. While we're quarrelling, we are still in this predicament, and going nowhere."

"All right, we'll go that way," Fletcher sighed, resigned, as he perused the map. "All other routes lead to dead ends or they're _also _uncharted, anyway. We have no choice; this is the only way that leads to the surface. We'll have to deal with the uncharted section of the map when we reach it. Are we all agreed?"

Slowly, the demoralised workers nodded or mumbled their assent.

"I hate to be the fly in the ointment," Isabela purred, "but how much food do we have? We didn't plan to be here for six weeks, did we?"

"We have plenty," Fletcher answered immediately, avoiding Sheldon – the main cook's – concerned frown. "There'll be no more cooked breakfasts, though; we'll have to economise, but we _will _manage."

"Let's get goin', then," grunted Vonim. "We need to wake the others and make as much progress as we can. You humans up to it?" he challenged, and the human workers, now feeling more determined with the assurance that there was enough food, followed him as he disappeared around a bend. Gradually, Fletcher's friends went after them, leaving him alone with Fenris.

The elf quietly walked over to Fletcher, who was looking at the collapse and shaking his head. "Do we _really_ have sufficient food?" he asked the mage as he stood at his side.

Fletcher shook his head again. "Not nearly enough. Don't tell anyone," he said quickly, his head snapping round to face the elf, and then his shoulders slumped. "I know…I know you won't say anything. There's no point in causing a panic, is there? Maybe…maybe we'll think of something. I can make water, at least."

"As can I," Fenris told him with a straight face, "though I doubt anyone would drink it."

A tiny smile tugged at Fletcher's mouth, his breath rushing out in a hollow laugh. "That depends on how desperate we become." He eyed one of Fenris's leather-clad thighs and licked his lips, hoping to lighten the mood. "That's a prime piece of meat you have there," he joked, giving one of the elf's buttocks a quick squeeze.

"Kindly desist from _groping _me," Fenris said drily, deftly evading his grasp with a twist of his hips. "Must I keep one eye open when I sleep now, lest you decide to gnaw upon me?"

"Not only when you sleep," threatened Fletcher, snapping his teeth together in a biting motion.

"You are not without merit, yourself," Fenris said, patting Fletcher's belly. "I claim this for my own; the fat should crackle quite nicely, plus, any tallow by-product would be useful when lighting our torches."

Forgetting their situation for a moment, Fletcher crossed his arms and glared at Fenris. "Just try claiming my _fatty belly_ with one leg, Elf. Or _none_."

"I have arms." Fenris folded them behind his back, an impish glint in his eyes.

"For now."

Losing the battle to subdue their smiles, both men laughed and Fletcher pulled Fenris against his chest, kissing the elf's forehead. "You make everything seem all right, Fen," he softly murmured.

"We _will _manage," said Fenris, gazing up at him. "We are led by Fletcher Hawke."

"Right. What can _possibly_ go wrong?" he mumbled wryly.

Fenris laid a hand on Fletcher's back and steered him away from the collapse. "This is probably not the best time to mention this, but…it _is_ after midnight. Happy Naming Day."

Fletcher's eyes widened and he halted, as did Fenris. "It's today? Huh…I'd completely forgotten."

"I had not. Today is 13 Drakonis."

Fletcher forced a wan smile and draped his arm around Fenris's shoulders, sighing. "It hasn't gone well so far, has it?"

"On the contrary. This could be your finest Naming Day yet; the day on which your successful journey through the Deep Roads begins. The day on which you lead your friends to riches and glory."

"I appreciate your faith in me, Fen, but forgive me if I'm not as optimistic as you. Without enough food, we won't have the strength to carry all of our _riches_."

"We will not starve," Fenris said confidently with a mild smile. "I have an idea. Worry no longer."

"Honestly? What?" Fletcher asked, the elf's confidence giving him hope.

"I will explain on the way." Fenris resumed his walk, with Fletcher following.

"If this idea of yours doesn't work, may I still nibble your leg?" Fletcher asked hopefully. "I'll let you munch on my belly," he offered as recompense.

"Perhaps later," the elf said quietly, knowing that flirting with Fletcher was usually guaranteed to raise a smile. Relieved to hear Fletcher's laughter, he grinned lopsidedly and began to explain his plan.

~o~O~o~

"We need to _what_?" Sheldon exclaimed once the group was back in the main chamber and they'd been apprised of Fenris's plan.

"We have to start breeding the nugs, as soon as possible," Fletcher reiterated.

"You _do _know that they're prolific breeders, don't you? And that they're sexually mature about a week after they're born?" asked the cook.

"That's what we're counting on," said Fletcher. "We have no fresh meat left besides the nugs, and the dried and salted meats are running low."

Sheldon, with Thirin at his side, took Fletcher and Fenris away from the group. "I knew we didn't have enough food," said the human. "It's a good idea, but there's one problem: the nugs will also need to be fed."

"What do they eat?" asked Fenris.

"Anything," Thirin interposed. "We can feed 'em on leftovers, and just keep two pairs for breedin'. I haven't had nuglet for bloody ages," he said with a wistful sigh.

"Nuglet? You mean…baby nug?" asked Fletcher, his nose twitching.

"Aye; don't even need to butcher 'em. You just hold 'em like this," he held his hands out as though holding a corn on the cob, "and tuck in. Delicious. The bones are nice and soft." He threw his head back and laughed when Fletcher gulped.

"Like this?" asked Fenris, mimicking Thirin's hand movements and pretending to chomp down on invisible nug. His eyes moved to Fletcher's face and the mage's look of dismay made him chuckle softly. "At least this way, my legs and your belly are safe."

"I don't think I _have_ an appetite for legs now, elf, nug or otherwise," Fletcher answered, looking over at a small group that had formed around the nugs, which were housed in a temporary pen made from broken-up crates.

"Hey, Hawke!" Isabela called over. "We're taking bets on which nugs will cop off first. Care to take a punt?"

"In a minute," he called back, noticing that Varric had snuck away from the group and was heading towards Isabela's pack, which lay out of sight of the nug-watchers. "Fen, I'll see you in a bit. I'm going to see if Varric's all right."

"Of course." Fenris watched the mage go, before he felt a hand wrap around his arm and he was being tugged toward the nugs by a grinning pirate.

"Varric," Fletcher whispered when he arrived at the dwarf's side.

Varric held a hand up. "Keep a lookout for me, Hawke; I wanna get a look at this friend fiction of the Rivaini's."

"Why don't you just ask her?"

"Nuh-uh. Us authors guard our creations jealously. She wouldn't let me within a mile of this thing. Now, keep watch!"

"All right…keeping watch," Fletcher sighed, looking around. At the far end of the chamber, he could see Anders, who was adding salt to a large crater full of water. Sebastian stood next to him, and they were talking quietly. Returning his attention to the main group, Fletcher turned his head back slightly. "Varric…are you all right? I mean with-"

"That bastard deserves everything he gets."

"But he's your brother, Varric. I know he's a shit, but I lost my own brother before I got the chance to-"

"Can we not do this now, Hawke?" Varric said sharply, making it clear that his question was not a request.

Fletcher sighed, feeling concerned for his friend but not wanting to push him. "Sorry, Varric."

An exasperated groan was heard from behind him, followed by a pause. "Hawke…I'm sorry about your brother, truly I am. Just…not now, okay?"

"Have you found the book?" Fletcher asked, changing the subject.

"I've found _a _book…but I'm darned if I'd write friend fiction in something like this. This thing must be worth a fortune! Quickly, look!"

With a glance around to ensure Isabela couldn't see them, he turned around, laying eyes on a huge, leather-bound book; the cover was intricately detailed, with red and blue mother-of-pearl inlays, and the edge of each page was trimmed with gold leaf. A huge, red gem was set in the centre of the cover. As Varric opened the book, a tiny cloud of dust billowed upward.

"If she's written in this lately, then I'm a son of a nug," said Varric, blowing the dust away while Fletcher once again checked that no one was watching. "What the hell? Hey, Hawke! What kind of language is this?"

Fletcher crouched down and cocked his head, frowning at the nonsensical words within the book. "Do the Rivaini have their own language?" he asked the dwarf.

"Beats me, Hawke, but _she_ didn't write this, that's for sure. I wonder who did? This looks old, Hawke. _Real _old."

"I bet Fenris would know." Fletcher stood up and looked over at the group.

"But he can't read, can he?" asked Varric. "Well, I know you're teaching him and all that, but I'm guessing he's not an expert just yet."

"No, but he _does _know three languages; that I know of, anyway. He's encountered several races since his escape. We can try to read some of it to him, if we can pronounce it."

Varric stood up and pushed the book into Fletcher's hands. "You stay here; I'll go distract her and send the elf over."

"All right, but be quick!" Fletcher intoned urgently. "I don't want to be caught snooping in a lady's pack!"

"You didn't, Hawke; I did. I'll take the rap if she finds out. Relax."

"He tells me to relax," Fletcher muttered to himself, and waited for what seemed like ages before Fenris started walking over to him.

"You wanted me?" asked the elf.

"Come here." Fletcher turned his back on the group and opened the book, waiting for Fenris.

"What have you there?" Fenris asked, looking over Fletcher's shoulder.

"I need you to tell me if you know this language," explained Fletcher.

"What is it?"

"It's Isabela's. Varric wanted to take a peek; he thought it contained stories. But, look." He flipped the cover closed. "She's pinched this from somewhere; she told me, before she sneaked into the expedition, that she needed to disappear for a while. She's in trouble of some kind, and I don't fancy meeting the owner of this book once we leave the Deep Roads. We need to know what it is."

"Wait…" Fenris's finger settled on a triangular symbol on the book's spine. "Open it," he said gravely. "Read some of it to me."

Fletcher quickly glanced at the elf, and, concerned by Fenris's expression, he squinted to read the small script. "Um…it doesn't make any sense…oh, hold on…here's a word I recognise: Arishok. Hey! Isn't that the name of the Qunari leader in Kirkwall?"

"Indeed," Fenris said sourly. "Go on."

"Uh, well, 'Arishok' is repeated several times, as is…Ari-Ariqun?"

"And Arigena?" guessed Fenris.

"Yes…" Fletcher's face dropped and he closed the book, looking at Fenris. "You know what this is, don't you?"

"Arishok, Ariqun and Arigena comprise the Triumvirate, the three pillars of Qunari society. This book may be of great significance to the Qunari people. The pirate should _not _have it in her possession. Even you and I are not worthy of handling it, if it is what I think it is."

Fletcher quickly bent down and carefully stowed the book in Isabela's pack, before leading Fenris away from it. "Are you saying this is some kind of Qunari Chant of Light?"

"Possibly." Fenris's eyes flitted over to the nug-watching group, and frowned as a shrill squeal was heard, followed by a huge cheer. "It may be sacred to the Qunari people."

"The Qunari! Of all the bloody races, she had to steal _their _holy book!" Fletcher clapped a hand over his eyes, and Fenris touched his arm.

"Do not trouble yourself over it today. According to the dwarf, we have at least six weeks before we reach the surface. I will take a closer look at the book when the opportunity arises. If it is indeed the Tome of Koslun, it _must_ be returned to the Arishok. Do nothing for now; we must go about this with caution. It could be a forgery."

"And if it's not?"

"Then our duty is clear."

"But…they'll probably kill her, won't they?"

"There is no _probably _about it. But that will only happen if they _know_ who took it. Being a fool does not warrant death; she may not realise the tome's importance. We may yet convince her of the error of her ways."

"Oh, Isabela…" Fletcher groaned, and Fenris tapped his arm, nodding behind Fletcher.

"_There_ you are!" Isabela exclaimed, grabbing Fletcher's arm, causing him to start. "What's the matter with you? You look all hot and bothered…oh, wait…I didn't disturb anything, did I? Well, don't mind me; just carry on and pretend I'm not here."

"What do you want?" Fenris asked impatiently.

"My horse came in!" she laughed, oblivious to the men's irritation. "We're betting on the next two, now. Come on! And, oh! You _must _see this: it's _so _cute. You two will love it. Come on, then!"

Isabela placed herself between the two men and, linking arms with them, she dragged them over to the pen, where Isabela's 'horses' were merrily humping away, while the other nugs sniffed and played with each other.

"Just _look_ at those two." She pointed out a pair of nugs that were trying, without success, to mate.

"He's got the wrong hole," Fletcher observed, and Fenris tilted his head, taking a closer look.

"He has the wrong _sex_," Fenris determined, and Fletcher gaped, craning his neck, before he burst out laughing.

"They're for the pot, then," Thirin decided. "They're no good to us if they can't mate."

"No! No…it's a shame," protested Fletcher. "_Look_ at them; they're adorable!" The hapless male nugs had abandoned their attempts at mating, and were chasing each other around the pen.

"I told you!" chirped Isabela, and, as one, Torbal, Thirin and Vonim rolled their eyes and groaned.

"You humans!" Vonim grunted. "What do _you _suggest we do with 'em, then?"

Seeing an opportunity to boost morale, Fletcher snapped his fingers and grinned. "They could be our mascots! Yes…the expedition mascots, to bring us luck!"

"Two queer nugs as our mascots. That just about sums up this whole sodding expedition, don't it?" Vonim grumbled, walking away and muttering under his breath.

"_Don't_," Fletcher said to Fenris. "I can _feel _you looking at me," and he noticed the elf shaking his head from the corner of his eye, though he remained silent.

"Let's give them names!" Isabela suggested. "Any ideas, Hawke?"

Glad that someone else shared his enthusiasm, he forgot his annoyance with Isabela for the time being and considered the frolicking couple. "I think _that_ one should be called 'Tufty'. Just look at his little patch of hair!"

"Oh, good name, Hawke! Hmm…the other one is all covered in bits of mud and stuff. How about 'Sprinkles'?"

"Yes! Everyone, this is Tufty and Sprinkles, our new mascots. They are _not_ to be eaten," Fletcher announced, and a few groans, as well as some laughter, were heard. "What do you think, Fen?"

"Do you _really _want to know?"

"It's my naming day, remember," he reminded the elf. "You have to be nice to me."

With a world-weary sigh, Fenris folded his arms and looked morosely at Fletcher. "Those names are _perfect_. Is that what you want to hear?"

"I _knew_ you'd love them! Go on, pet them," he urged.

"Do not push your luck," Fenris warned, but Fletcher's ebullience meant that a smile lurked not far from the surface.

"I think Tufty likes you," said Fletcher, reaching down to scratch the nug's head as it sniffed at Fenris through the fence. "Do you wike Fen-Fen? Do you? Yes, you do!" he said in a child-like voice.

"Ugh. Do mages _regress_ with each year that passes?" Fenris wondered to himself.

"Nope; just me." Fletcher winked at Fenris, who rolled his eyes. "Thanks for putting up with me," he whispered with a discreet nudge to Fenris's arm.

"_Someone_ has to," answered the elf, turning away from Fletcher before the mage saw his smile, but Fletcher already knew.

~o~O~o~

Later that night, Fenris and Fletcher retreated to their antechamber, where they had a reading lesson. Fletcher had decided to postpone his naming day celebration – not deeming it appropriate considering the situation they were in – although Varric had remembered, and had given Fletcher his greetings, as well as a present.

"I wanted to ask you something, Fen," said Fletcher once their lesson had ended. "Earlier, when you and Anders were bickering over the maps…you did that on purpose, didn't you? You deliberately riled him. He'd already given you an answer, but you kept on at him. I'm not accusing you of anything, I'm just wondering why. You obviously had a reason."

Fenris nodded slowly with a wry smile. "Anders was shaken and had lost his focus. I gave it back to him…he is now committed to perceiving me as the irksome elf once again. He is a vital member of this expedition and it will not do for him to lose sight of that."

"I knew it was something like that," Fletcher replied. "Well, Anders may not appreciate it, but I do. Thank you."

Fenris dipped his head. "What did the dwarf give you?" he asked.

"Hm?" Fletcher busied himself with tidying up the books, heat prickling at his cheeks.

"I saw him give you a book shortly after supper. Was it a gift?"

"Er…yeah," mumbled Fletcher. "Just a token, you know."

"You have stacked those books five times, now," Fenris commented, his eyebrow quirking with amusement at Fletcher's reddening cheeks. "Are you…hiding something from me?"

Fletcher grimaced and sat heavily next to the elf. "Sometimes, Fen, it's _good_ to hide things."

"What is it?" the elf prodded.

"All right…maybe it would be better if I read an excerpt to you, which would be preferable to showing you the_ illustrations_." Fletcher reached beneath his robes and removed a small book that he'd had tucked inside his shirt. "Then you can decide if you want to hear any more of it." Fletcher cleared his throat and leafed through the small book. "With the increase in popularity of sea travel, the ingress of many different races into the Free Marches has meant that couplings between humans and non-humans are inevitable."

Fenris's other eyebrow rose, and he shuffled closer to Fletcher, indicating with a glance that he should continue.

Sighing, Fletcher went on, "Of course, as many of the new races are either considerably shorter in stature – or conversely, much larger – than humans, this can result in problems in the boudoir. This informative book provides advice and illustrations for those couples who find the logistics of the sexual act difficult due to such differences." Fletcher closed the book. "It's a book of sexual positions, Fen. For couples with height differences."

"That was a thoughtful gift," remarked the elf evenly.

"It-it was." Fletcher dissolved into sudden laughter, mostly at Fenris's calm reaction.

"What is the book called?" Fenris asked.

"'We're All The Same Lying Down'."

A deep, quiet chuckle emanated from the elf, and Fletcher again laughed, highly relieved that he'd seen the funny side. "And have you learned anything from this book?" Fenris queried.

"Well, like the book says, we're all the same lying down. There are a few interesting things in there, but nothing I didn't already know," answered Fletcher with a shrug.

"You are…quite experienced, then?"

Fletcher looked warily at Fenris, unsure how his answer would be received.

"I am not judging you," said Fenris. "I am merely curious. If the question was inappropriate, then forgive me. I do not require an answer."

"Oh no, it's not that." Fletcher snaked an arm around Fenris's shoulders and exhaled. "It's just that most of my sexual experiences haven't really been…well, see what you think. When I was a teenager, there were a few fumbles with the local girls, while I was trying to convince myself that I _liked_ girls. Turns out, I didn't. Then, there was Dalton."

Fenris touched his arm. "You do not need to…"

"No, it's all right. Well, after him, I _knew_, you know? But because of what happened, I lost interest. I was celibate for a good…five, six years. Then, a bawdy house was opened outside the village." Fletcher smiled ruefully. "I went along out of curiosity, and ended up spending a week's wages."

He laughed, and Fenris looked at him, his expression soft. "Go on," he prompted.

"Well, that's how I became experienced. Don't get me wrong; I wasn't in there every night, but now and again I treated myself. I became friends with a few of the men there, but there was never any love involved. It was the same when we arrived here. I went to the Rose, had a few nights there…I also heard that casual encounters could be had at a stretch of the Wounded Coast on a Tuesday night, but that wasn't for me. I like to at least _see _who I'm with."

Fletcher sighed and leaned back against the wall. "I may be experienced, but I've never…it's different with someone you care about, Fen. With you…well, I know that we haven't, you know, properly…but even when you kiss me, I feel something deep inside." He laid his hand over his heart. "Something I've never felt before."

His eyes still on Fletcher, Fenris laid his hand over the mage's. "I feel it, also."

"Do you…do _you_ want to talk about anything, Fen?" offered Fletcher, and Fenris shook his head.

"You are aware of…_my_ experiences," he said quietly, without anger. "If there was anyone before, I do not remember."

"I'm sorry, Fen."

"There is no need." Fenris sat up straight and kissed Fletcher's cheek, still clasping his hand. "This is a new start for us both."

"A new start." Fletcher turned his head and kissed Fenris on the lips, before sighing. "If we ever get out of here to enjoy that new start."

"Whatever fate awaits us, I will remain at your side always," Fenris said with conviction. "We will face it together."

"You know, that actually makes me feel better." Fletcher pulled Fenris closer, resting his cheek against the elf's silken hair. "Tomorrow, we'll find a suitable tunnel and we'll make a dent in that six weeks. I feel a bit more positive about it now, thanks to you."

"And we will find that place of yours where we can be alone," Fenris breathed.

"Yes, we'll find somewhere." Fletcher cleared his throat and sat up straight. "You never know, we might like it so much we'll decide to live there, and dine on nug for the rest of our lives."

Shaking his head, Fenris snorted softly. "But not _Tufty _or _Sprinkles, _presumably?"

"Not on your life." Feeling a stirring in his belly at the thought of being truly alone with Fenris, Fletcher reached for his pack, knowing that Fenris would not welcome any amorous advances as, although they were hidden, they were within earshot of the others. "Beth also bought me a book; a sensible one. It's not about sex or magic or medical curiosities. It's about Ferelden."

"Your home?" Fenris asked with interest.

"My former home," Fletcher shrugged, and Fenris squeezed his arm.

"Read it to me?"

"We'll read it together," said Fletcher. "You're ready to move beyond children's books. It'll be difficult, but we'll just take one word at a time. I'll help you with the longer ones. Would you like that?"

Fenris smiled and nodded, and Fletcher opened the book, placing it on Fenris's lap.

~o~O~o~

"Let's get these bagged up, and then get outta here. We don't have the maps, so we don't know where this tunnel leads, and I don't _wanna_ know. This lot'll bring us a pretty penny."

Angrim, Bartrand's partner, crouched down, bringing his torch closer to the cluster of clear gems that studded the walls of tunnel seven. "I still feel kinda bad about Varric, Bartrand. What if they all get trapped down there?"

"That brother of mine always rises to the top, like scum," Bartrand seethed. "This expedition was _my _idea, and he and his friends decided they didn't like the way I ran it. Maybe he's re-thinking that right about now."

"He doesn't deserve to die, Bartrand," protested his partner.

"What did I just say, idiot? _They _have the maps. They'll find a way out; Varric always did have all the luck. By the time they do, we'll be long gone. Now, get harvesting!" He took out his knife and began chipping away at the stones.

"Uh, Bartrand? Did Gaar say that the diamonds were here?"

"Are you retarded or something? There's the sodding marker! Now, get on with it!" barked the ex-leader of the expedition.

"Bartrand…these are _not _diamonds. This is quartz."

"Quartz, my ass! Gaar is an authority on precious stones! Why do you think I brought him along? He's an expert on explosives, as well. That's why I had him collapse tunnel two." Bartrand jabbed at his temple. "You see that ugly head of yours? Use it!"

Angrim stood up straight and grunted. "Yes, he _is _an authority on stones. He would have _known _this was worthless. Any schoolboy can identify quartz, Bartrand! Look! The striations and formations of the crystals are completely wrong for diamonds!"

"_What_?" Bartrand brought his face next to the crystalline cluster and frowned heavily, fury welling up inside him as he realised he'd been had. "That son of a bitch! I'll bet he's found something _really _valuable in tunnel eight! Quick!" He stomped up the tunnel, and Angrim, sighing, slowly followed.

When they'd gone a quarter of a mile or so, they hit a dead end.

"Did you take a wrong turn?" Angrim demanded.

"No…" Bartrand looked at the ground, where he'd scored a marker into the rock. "This is where we entered," he said, his confusion evident. "That…that piss-swilling nug-fucker! Hey, Gaar! You collapsed the wrong tunnel, you freaking idiot! Gaar!" he shouted at the top of his voice.

"Hey! Is anyone there?" yelled Angrim, expecting one of the other dwarves to be waiting at the entrance to the tunnel.

"Where the hell _is _everyone?" Bartrand growled. "Hey, Gaar! Gaaaaar!"


	57. Chapter 57

_Mary, you really came through for me with this chapter. You made sense of a ridiculously long, confusing chapter, written in the middle of the night by someone who'd taken too many cold & flu powders. Thank you!_

_My new avatar was painted by the very talented Aynslesa as a commission. You'll find a larger version at her Devianart page, at: aynslesa . deviantart . com / # / d4ux0wr (remove spaces). Please let her know what you think! I'm thrilled with it. Thank you to her and to my friend Carrie, who bought the commission for my birthday!_

__~o~O~o~

Fenris awoke but didn't open his eyes. Although his markings ached, he was otherwise warm and comfortable and had no desire to move, or rise, immediately. He'd started to become slovenly since sharing a bed – or a bedroll – with Fletcher; at one time, he'd be up and about before the sun rose, but these days, with a nice warm body next to him, he'd been rising later and later.

Well, if he was slovenly, then so be it, he mused with a small shrug of his shoulders; it wasn't a problem to him, and Fletcher actively encouraged it.

He shifted slightly to take the pressure off his hip and shoulder, and snuggled down. Just as he was about to drift off again, he was disturbed by a loud snort from behind him.

Fletcher was snoring. Again.

As his senses returned to him, though, Fenris wondered how Fletcher had moved behind him without his knowledge. And besides, didn't Fletcher _know _that Fenris didn't like anyone being behind him?

Irritated by the mage's apparent inconsideration, he swivelled onto his back, and just as he was about to dig Fletcher in the ribs, his nose made contact with a pink, very wet, snout.

"Begone!" he exclaimed and, now quite awake, he sat up and glared at Tufty, who trotted closer to Fenris and snuffled at his leg.

"Fletcher!" Fenris called, looking around for the mage as he recoiled from the nug. "Fletcher! One of your _pets _has found its way in here! I thought we discussed this last night!" With another glance around the small antechamber, it was clear that Fletcher had stepped out; for breakfast, judging from the smell of porridge that wafted in.

"_Hawke_!" Fenris shouted in his harshest voice, backing up against the wall and scowling at Tufty, who was attempting to burrow under his thigh.

"No! You cannot…_bury _yourself there!" he scolded the creature, before realising he was still raising his voice, and he lowered it to a sibilant whisper. "That is my _leg_," he informed Tufty, who gazed up at him for a moment before resuming his burrowing. "What are you doing? That is solid rock! You cannot _dig _through it, you cretinous…"

He pushed himself up, irritated at himself for having a conversation with an unintelligent animal, and even more so at Fletcher for having allowed the creature into their sleeping quarters. "Fletcher!" he called again, his eyes widening and then narrowing as Sprinkles ambled into the small cave and began to sniff at Fletcher's pack. Feeling something wet on his unclad foot, Fenris looked down to see Tufty licking it, the creature's tail swishing from side to side.

"Stop that!" Fenris barked. "I do _not_ require a wash from you! I _said_ stop!" Fenris took a step away, only for Tufty to close the gap and push its snout against Fenris's foot. "What is the _matter _with you?" Fenris demanded, hands on hips, a note of something approaching panic in his voice. "You! Come here!" he commanded Sprinkles, who completely ignored him. "Come and…_play _with your mate, or whatever it is you…things do."

Sprinkles promptly lay down, seemingly oblivious to the elf's growing anger.

"What do you _want_?" Fenris bleated with a pleading look at Tufty, who was continuing his attempt to burrow under Fenris's foot. Sighing heavily, Fenris picked up his blanket and bunched it up, placing it back down on the ground. He then plucked Tufty from the ground, and, holding him at arm's length, he placed the nug next to the blanket.

Much to Fenris's relief, Tufty began to burrow under the blanket.

"Hah!" Fenris intoned smugly. Then, realising that he was smiling, he took a deep breath and thought of Fletcher, who he was still annoyed with. The elf's expression turned dour and he stalked toward the entrance of the antechamber.

Then, he stopped and turned around with a long-suffering sigh. Walking over to Fletcher's blanket, he picked it up, bunched it up and placed it next to Sprinkles. "Here. Burrow under this," he instructed the nug, but Sprinkles continued to ignore him, and scampered away.

"Suit yourself, then!" snapped Fenris, furious that the nug had rebuffed his generous offer. "That is the last thing I do for _you_!" Turning on his heel and entering the main chamber, Fenris stopped in his tracks, almost bumping into a grinning Fletcher, who stood outside the antechamber, his arms folded and his legs casually crossed at the ankles.

"You and the boys seem to be getting along well," the mage observed.

"You sent them in there on purpose, didn't you?" Fenris accused, his cheeks pink with indignation.

"Well,_ I_ couldn't wake you. And you go on at me about _my_ snoring!" Fletcher began to laugh, but when he noticed that Fenris didn't appreciate his quip, he straightened his face and sighed. "Look, I just don't trust those dwarves around them; did you see the look on Thirin's face when he was talking about _nuglets_? Tufty and Sprinkles are only about six weeks old, according to Varric, and they won't mate with females, so they could be chucked in the pot. You don't want _that_, do you?" Fletcher pouted and batted his eyelashes in what he hoped was an adorable and charming way.

"That _face _will not avail you," snapped the elf. "I do not appreciate being woken by a slobbering animal!"

"It hasn't bothered you before," replied Fletcher with a shrug and a cheeky half-smile.

"You are impossible," groused the elf, walking away.

"Wait!"

Fenris huffed and turned back to face Fletcher. "What?"

"I'm sorry I sent them in to you. I thought it would be funny. I didn't take your feelings into consideration. I won't do it again; I'm sorry, Fen." Fletcher sighed and pushed his fingers through his hair. "I suppose I shouldn't become too attached to them, anyway; they'll probably be eaten eventually." He sighed again and waved his hand in front of them. "Let's go and get some breakfast."

Watching as the mage walked past him, Fenris was beset with guilt; Fletcher was a healer who saved people's lives, and he was, in a way, trying to save the nugs' lives, as well.

"_If_ we are going to keep them," the elf began tersely, and Fletcher stopped, slowly turning around, "you will need to instil some sort of discipline in them. The one with the patch of hair on its crown-"

"You mean Tufty?"

"_Yes_, I mean _Tufty_. _That _one will not leave me alone, and the _other_ one completely disregards my commands."

"They're not dogs, Fen; they don't follow commands," Fletcher reasoned. "And I was talking to Torbal earlier, and he reckons that Tufty has taken a shine to you for some reason; he seems to like the way you smell, hence his constant sniffing."

"The way I smell?" Fenris raised his arm and sniffed at his armpit; he then smelled the front of his shirt. "What _do_ I smell like, then?"

Fletcher moved closer and lowered his voice. "You smell of musk and leather and fresh sweat…and there's something woodsy about you, as well; probably the soap you use. I _also _like the way you smell. A _lot_."

Disarmed, Fenris swallowed and shifted his weight as a shiver travelled through him. "I…do not want them sleeping with us. _Or _waking me."

"Never again," Fletcher murmured, his gaze, intense and full of longing, causing Fenris's stomach to knot. He leaned in and cupped Fenris's face with his hand, positioning his nose against the elf's neck and inhaling deeply. "A lot," he whispered, his lips brushing against the elf's ear.

Fenris took a hasty step back, his eyes darting around the chamber, and he haltingly cleared his throat. "Um…perhaps we should…break our fast. That…_is _what we were talking about…wasn't it?"

"Yes, we'll get breakfast. And then we'll get down that tunnel. And then," Fletcher again stepped close to Fenris, "we are going to find that special place of ours. I want to be alone with you, Fen. Today. No nugs, no other people. Just _you_ and _me_. You'll have to excuse me, but I've been reading Varric's book."

Fenris took a deep breath and nodded, and Fletcher took his hand, leading him away from their antechamber. Fenris immediately pulled his hand loose, but Fletcher caught a fleeting smile, and, deciding not to push his luck, he walked ahead.

"Today," Fenris said quietly to himself, his heart beating wildly, and he then looked down at his feet, feeling a by-now familiar wet sensation. "You have returned," he said to Tufty with a sigh, and he glanced at the entrance to the antechamber, where Sprinkles was emerging. "Come," he ordered the nugs. "You had better not wander off. Fletcher will only fret, and I will _not _take kindly to that. Do we understand each other?"

Tufty blinked and twitched his nose before nudging Fenris's foot. The elf shook his head, not quite believing that he was having another conversation with a _nug_. "Hmph," he grumbled as he looked over at Sprinkles, who again wasn't taking a blind bit of notice. "And I suppose _you _will do whatever you please."

"When you've finished negotiating with the nugs, I have a bowl of porridge here for you," Fletcher called over with a chuckle.

"Fasta Vass," Fenris muttered, and walked over to the smiling mage, with Tufty in hot pursuit.

~o~O~o~

After breakfast, scouting parties were sent along two tunnels which led in the direction the party needed to go. Anders's first choice was deemed too unstable and risky to travel along, but thankfully, the second tunnel, running almost parallel to the first, was judged to be safe.

"It'll take slightly longer to negotiate," Anders told the group, gathered around him, "but eventually it joins onto this large tunnel," he said as he pointed it out on the map, "which will put us back on track. That tunnel also leads back to tunnel seven."

"Wasn't that where the darkspawn were heading?" Fletcher asked him.

Anders shook his head and glanced anxiously at Varric. "No…that was tunnel eight."

The group fell quiet, until Varric broke the silence. "Where are they now, Blondie?"

"Do you-do you want to discuss this in private?" Anders asked.

"No. Just tell me," the dwarf ordered, a little impatiently.

"I didn't want to say…" Anders sighed. "They're moving away from tunnel eight, now…away from us, as well. There are fewer of them than there were to start with. Maybe…maybe there were some survivors among Bartrand's group."

"Fine," said Varric, his expression blank, but his voice was hard and cold. "When we get to where we're going, maybe a few of us could go back and investigate what Bartrand found so fascinating in tunnel seven. There's no point letting his death go to waste and us leaving here empty-handed."

"We don't _know_ he's dead, Varric," Fletcher consoled.

"He's dead," insisted the dwarf. "It's better I accept that, than my every waking moment being consumed by thoughts of murdering the bastard. I'm just glad my mother didn't live to see this." He picked up his pack, straightened Bianca and stomped towards the safe tunnel. "Are we going, or what?" he barked before continuing on his way.

"Is he going to be all right, Hawke?" Anders asked the mage.

"I'll keep an eye on him," sighed Fletcher. _That's two of you._

"Perhaps his _partner _should do that?" Fenris queried with a frosty glance at Anders.

"I _do _know that, you know," Anders spat back. "Believe it or not, us mages _can_ think for ourselves, and will get on quite well without your sage _counsel_."

Fletcher covered his face with his hands and shook his head, laughing in spite of himself, as Anders stormed off. "I think Anders _has_ his focus back now, you know," he advised the elf as he removed his hands.

"I was just making certain," the elf claimed with an infinitesimal quirk of his lips. "_You _have quite enough to think about. I am merely looking after my partner, as is my duty."

"That's very generous of you, Fen." A small smile passed between them and they followed Varric and Anders, ready to undertake the next leg of their journey.

~o~O~o~

As Anders predicted, the journey through the tunnel was long, and two meal stops were made. Along the way, a few precious gems were discovered, as well as several small orange stones – which the mages recognised as Lifestones – which were abundant in one particular section of the tunnel. Although each stone was only worth a few silver, the two sacks' worth they collected would fetch considerably more. Fletcher, after consulting with the group, decided they were worth taking along; they could always be discarded if something more valuable was found later.

By the time the group reached the next chamber – which was considerably smaller than the others they'd camped in – Torbal, Vonim and Thirin, after some debate, decreed that supper should be prepared, as it was quite late up on the surface. The three dwarves seemed to possess an innate sense of time while they were underground, and several of the humans frequently asked them the time, which the dwarves laughed at. For the sake of the strange humans, Torbal had started to announce roughly when the sun rose and set, and when it was midday.

A frugal vegetable soup, thickened with cornmeal was prepared, and served with biscuits. Most of the group was too tired to prepare, or eat, anything heavier than that. After Fletcher had consulted with Sheldon and Thirin, it was decided that nothing too fancy would be prepared until the nugs had started to breed, which would happen in roughly four weeks' time. Fletcher was worried about stretching the food until then, but decided to push that thought aside for now, though it lingered and broke through his consciousness occasionally.

While the supper things were cleared away, Fletcher took Fenris aside. "I'm going to find somewhere for us to sleep tonight," he promised. "Why don't you carry on reading Beth's book, or take a bath, if you think you need one?"

Fenris smiled and pulled the neck of his shirt out, sniffing beneath it. "I still smell reasonably _woodsy_," he quipped. "I believe I shall read for a while. I wish you luck in your search. Do_ not _go too far," he warned.

"Promise." Fletcher winked at the elf and walked over to Anders, who had promised to look after Tufty and Sprinkles each night. Fenris watched him go, and rubbed his temples, feeling the beginnings of a tension headache. With a sigh, he retreated to a quiet part of the small chamber, sat down, and took out his book.

When Fletcher returned almost an hour later, he went straight over to his bedroll, which he promptly rolled up and slung across his back together with the rest of his belongings. From the corner of his eye, he could see that Fenris – who sat against a wall studying _The Rise and Fall of Ferelden_ - was watching him curiously, and, when Fletcher had completely cleared away his things, he strolled over to the elf and crouched down next to him.

"Have you changed your mind about the expedition?" Fenris queried dryly. "If so, you will have rather a long walk back."

Fletcher grinned and shook his head. "Nope. Get your things together and come with me."

"Get my things together? Have you…"

"I've found somewhere special for us," Fletcher replied with an enthusiastic nod. "You've _got_ to see it. You'll love it, I promise."

His heart rate increasing, Fenris glanced around the chamber and then gave Fletcher a stern look. "Are you aware that we are attracting…attention?"

Fletcher also looked around, noticing that some of the workers were averting their gazes from the couple, amid a few sniggers and whispers. "Okay…" Fletcher mumbled, feelings his hopes ebb away. "Do you…do you want to leave it?"

"I did not _say _that," retorted the elf irritably, and Fletcher placed a hand over his mouth and nodded, his eyes glazing over. "You could have just _told _me privately, instead of making a show of the fact that we will be 'sleeping' apart from the others."

"Right," Fletcher muttered, his own irritation obvious. "Sorry for being myself. I thought you were quite receptive to the idea of us having some privacy."

"That was _your_ idea," Fenris began, but was cut off by Fletcher's palm being thrust at him.

"Yes, it _was_ my idea," Fletcher hissed, "because_ you're_ so obsessed with what other people think about us. I thought it would be nice, just this once, for you to relax and not have to look around every time I touch you. _I _don't have a problem with the others seeing us being affectionate with each other, but I guess I have no shame. I _am _a mage, after all, and you know what they say about mages, don't you?"

Angered, Fenris's eyes flashed. "If you are so concerned with my feelings, then why could you have not told me discreetly? We could have left without anyone knowing."

"Oh, so we should have just buggered off without letting anyone know where we would be all night? Perhaps I should have asked the workers to turn around while we gathered our belongings? That wouldn't have caused any gossip at _all_, would it? Oh, wait," Fletcher held his hand up again when he saw the elf was about to speak. "This is where you tell me I don't understand you. Well, you're right: I don't, and I'm fed up of trying. Let's just forget it."

As Fletcher turned and walked away, the shocked elf stammered, "Fletcher, I did not mean…"

"No, forget it," said Fletcher without turning back. "I've had enough. I just don't know how to take you. I found a really nice place for us – which I thought you'd _like -_ and I'm not letting it go to waste." He walked over to Varric and told him where he'd be spending the night. To his credit, Varric didn't glance back at Fenris, though it must have been obvious that they'd quarrelled.

"Anyone wanna help count those orange stones?" Varric asked loudly, and a few volunteers joined him. Varric's invitation was meant for Fenris as well, but the elf barely heard him, his eyes on Fletcher's back as the mage left the chamber through one of the tunnels.

~o~O~o~

Angrily throwing his belongings and torch on the ground, Fletcher slumped down next to a small gap in the wall of the tunnel and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, slowly and deliberately releasing a shaky breath. He rubbed his face with his hands and then, as his eyes opened, he stared blankly ahead as a small shadow fell across him.

Fenris silently walked nearer and, after a moments' hesitation, he sat down on the ground a few feet away from Fletcher. For the next few minutes, neither man spoke and a heavy atmosphere permeated their section of the tunnel.

"I shouldn't have gone on about Varric's book," Fletcher said quietly at length. "I got over-excited. I should have known you'd be nervous. Believe it or not, I didn't find this chamber for us to have sex in…not unless you wanted to, and you obviously don't. I'd be quite happy for us to read all night. Bloody hell, I'm babbling. What-what I'm trying to say is, I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have just…" He groaned and his head fell back against the wall.

"I _am_ nervous," Fenris confessed in almost a whisper, and Fletcher looked at him, his brows meeting. "I…want this more than anything, but…you know why. I do not know what will happen." Fenris shuffled nearer to Fletcher and hesitantly laid a hand on the mage's arm. "You are the only thing in my life that has ever been truly _mine_; not that I consider that you belong to me in any way, but…I do not want to share you with anyone else. I do not want the others to _know_. I _want _to be alone with you, and yet, I fear that very thing, for your sake…and…for mine. I have never allowed anyone so close before."

Fenris shook his head, and Fletcher also moved closer until their legs were touching. "I do not want to hurt you," Fenris went on, "but…"

"_You_ don't want to be hurt, either."

Fenris exhaled and nodded once, his eyes downcast. "I do _not_ think that you would, but..." He groaned and looked into Fletcher's eyes. "Why is this so difficult?"

"Oh, Fen." Fletcher took Fenris's hand. "This is _not _me trying to pressure you, but nothing happened the other night, did it? You were able to let yourself go, and I think we became closer because of that."

"I agree," murmured the elf, "but this feels…different. Each time I think I am breaking away from my former life, Danarius's spectre looms large. I do not seem able to free myself from him."

"Don't mention his name," Fletcher whispered. "He's not welcome. Come here." He placed his arm around the elf and they sat together in silence for a while.

"I…would like to see this special place of yours," Fenris murmured eventually. "You were very excited about it; I am sorry I did not appear to share your enthusiasm. I…do like to see you happy, despite all evidence to the contrary." Fenris's voice broke with his last word, and Fletcher kissed the side of his head.

"I know…I shouldn't have reacted like that. I should know by now when you're afraid of something. As soon as I came out here, it hit me. I'm such a fool."

"Then we are fools together." Fenris laughed softly, though he betrayed his anxiety by wiping his palms against his breeches.

"How very true." Fletcher again kissed the elf's temple before pushing himself up into a squatting position.

He pointed to a small shaft that led off the tunnel. "We need to crawl through here," he told Fenris, lying in a prone position.

Fenris crouched down and peered through the narrow shaft. "_You_ crawled through there? What if you had become trapped?"

Fletcher shrugged again. "Well, then I wouldn't be here talking to you, would I? Now pass me your things; I'll push them through first."

Sighing at Fletcher's casual disregard for his own safety, Fenris passed over first his pack, then his bedroll, to Fletcher, who shoved them through the gap, before pushing his own belongings through. "No fondling," he warned Fenris as he began to crawl through.

"You are hardly in a position to stop me," teased the elf, feeling a little more at ease, and Fletcher felt a small hand brush against his leg as it grabbed the hem of his robe.

"Oy! Stop that!" laughed Fletcher, quickly wriggling through, hearing a quiet snort from behind him.

Fenris released the robe and also lay down on the ground, following Fletcher through with much more ease. Just before Fenris's head emerged through the other side, Fletcher touched his hair to stop him.

"Close your eyes," he requested.

"Why?" asked Fenris suspiciously.

"Please, I want this to be a surprise."

With a soft sigh, Fenris did as asked and, after crawling through, Fletcher helped him to his feet, turning him around slightly.

"Now, open them," said Fletcher, smiling.

Slowly, Fenris opened his eyes, not knowing what to expect, but his own imagination could not have conjured the sight that met him.

They were in a small grotto, roughly forty feet square, with no other exits. In one corner a fire had been lit, presumably by Fletcher during his first visit. The far end of the chamber was spanned by a white, foamy rimstone pool, and above it, a sheet of pure calcite hung from the sloped ceiling like a billowing curtain. Several thin stalactites of gypsum and calcite hung just behind the curtain, a magnificent natural chandelier that was wondrous to behold. Only the crackle of the fire could be heard in this silent and still place, and Fenris and Fletcher felt they'd been caught in a moment of frozen time, that only they would ever have the privilege of glimpsing.

An awed smile spread across Fenris's face and when he spoke, his voice was hushed. "This is quite a find. I see now why you were eager to show it to me."

"Look up," Fletcher said softly.

Fenris glanced briefly at Fletcher and then upwards, his mouth falling open as his eyes met the high ceiling of the chamber. Against the pale rock were dotted countless tiny, blue, spherical crystals from which emanated pale, ethereal light.

"That is lyrium," Fenris stated quietly, almost reverentially.

Fletcher nodded and moved closer to Fenris, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Can you feel it, Fen? That gentle hum along your skin? That was what made me investigate this chamber in the first place. I felt like I was being called inside."

"I feel…something, but I had not really noticed until you mentioned it." Fenris looked into Fletcher's eyes and saw the tiny lights reflected in them. "My skin…I initially thought there was a chill in the air, but this is…different, somehow."

Fletcher moved even closer and removed his hand from Fenris's shoulder, slipping it around the elf's waist. "It's like looking up at the stars, isn't it, Fen? I think it's beautiful."

"It is," whispered Fenris, his eyes never leaving Fletcher's, which were still gazing up at the ceiling. "Thank you for sharing this with me."

Fletcher's eyes moved to Fenris and he felt a flutter in his chest at the look on Fenris's face: he wore a gentle smile and his eyes were heavy-lidded, and fixed upon Fletcher as though he was the only person that had ever existed.

"Fen?" Fletcher asked softly, "would you like to spend the night with me, here? I mean, when I say spend the night…I mean, well, we don't have to..." He laughed and clasped the back of his neck, and Fenris smiled, tilting his head slightly. "I just saw this place and I knew I had to show it to you, and it would be perfect for spending some time alone." He sighed and removed his hand from around Fenris's waist. "I wasn't presuming anything, you know."

"Really?" Fenris asked indulgently. "I thought that was exactly what you were doing. You _were _reading Varric's book, after all."

"I-I know, and I know I got a bit…excited, earlier, " Fletcher stuttered, his face reddening as his eyes once again met Fenris's. "I mean, I've thought about it, of course I have. You're…" He moved his hands up to rest on Fenris's cheeks. "Well, we've become quite close recently, and, yes, I've been thinking about it."

Fenris dipped his head slightly and then his eyes widened and Fletcher felt something pierce his heart as they met his own. "…But I know that, with your past, you may not…I would never pressure you into something you're not ready for. Well, not purposely. But I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it. Maker, I don't know what I'm going on about. I…feel nervous, too."

"Let us not speak of my past," Fenris murmured softly, resting his hands on Fletcher's shoulders. "There is no place for it here. I…have also thought about…_being_ with you."

"Have you?" whispered Fletcher, a fine tremor running through his body.

Fenris nodded. "Yes, Fletcher. I have thought about it often."

The silence around them seemed to deepen, and Fletcher stroked Fenris's face with his thumbs, looking deeply into his eyes. "Tell me," he whispered.

Fenris hung his head shyly. "I have…thought about giving you pleasure several times since we met. More so since…the other night."

"H-have you?" Fletcher asked again, his mouth suddenly bone-dry, heat pooling in his lower body while his upper body shivered.

Fenris ran his hands down the mage's arms. "You are a very attractive man, Fletcher. I thought as much the very first night we met."

"You liked me even then?" Fletcher asked in surprise, his fingers gently tangling through Fenris's hair.

"I thought you were _handsome_," Fenris clarified. "It took me a while to _like_ you, though, and I suspect the feeling was mutual."

Fletcher nodded thoughtfully. "I didn't like many people, or things, back then. You changed all that, you know."

"_I_ changed it?" Fenris asked, tilting his head slightly. "How?"

"Both Bethany and Varric commented on it, that I started to change after meeting you. I think that's also part of the reason Mother likes you so much. She said one day that my eyes light up whenever I talk about you. It's true: I changed when you came along. For the better."

"I doubt I can take credit for that," said Fenris humbly. "Things were more complicated, then. Now, though…" He raised his head and Fletcher rested his forehead against Fenris's. "Now that I have come to care for you, things are simpler. I am ready. I _want_ to be with you. I want to…see you, as I have seen you in my mind when I..."

"When you touch yourself?" Fletcher whispered, his head still resting against Fenris's, their lips barely millimetres apart.

"You…know about that?" uttered the elf.

Fletcher nodded, his breathing growing heavier. "Of course I do; you're a man. " He felt Fenris tense slightly, and slowly ran his hands up and down the elf's back. "I've also…you know. When thinking about you. It's nothing to be ashamed of. The thought of you touching yourself over me…my-my head is swimming just thinking about it."

"You are…aroused by it?" Fenris asked matter-of-factly.

"Maker, Fen, can't you tell?" he breathed, his voice unsteady.

"I was…not certain," Fenris said haltingly. "Nobody has ever…since my escape…there has been no one. I did not think that I would ever…again, with anyone else. And yet, with you, I cannot seem to... I cannot stop thinking about you. The other night…it…opened my eyes."

"There's nothing to be afraid of, Fen," said Fletcher softly, his hands trembling slightly as they moved to Fenris's face. "I _know _you wouldn't hurt me. You care about me too much. I _know _that."

"I am gratified by your faith in me," replied Fenris. "Although I feel less afraid, I must confess to a certain… anticipation. I feel it here," he placed his hand over his stomach, "over and over. It will not abate," he breathed huskily. "I have never before experienced such a sensation. Even when we…the other night, it was not as intense. And my heart is beating wildly. It feels as though it will leap from my chest."

Fletcher's breath rushed out of him as he felt something firm press against his leg, and his eyes closed involuntarily, knowing that Fenris must also be feeling his own need.

"Maker, Fen, I-I've never wanted anyone so badly," he whispered unsteadily, brushing his lips against the elf's. "I've never… I-I'm so in love with you, Fen. I want you so much. _So _much."

"Then let us waste no more time with talk," Fenris said in a soft growl, pressing himself against Fletcher.

"Are you sure about this?" asked Fletcher. "I want you to want this as much as I do."

"I want this." Fenris pushed Fletcher against the entrance wall and grabbed his face, pulling him close, hard, their lips crashing together. Dizzy and startled, Fletcher released a sharp gasp as Fenris sucked and bit at his lips, his hands going for the ties on Fletcher's robe.

"F-Fen… "

Panting hard, Fenris moved from Fletcher's lips and down to his neck, nipping with his teeth as he pulled Fletcher's robe up, exposing him; he wore neither undergarments nor breeches beneath.

Fletcher's mouth gaped in shock as the elf dropped to his knees. "Fen… h-hold on a minute…" This was everything Fletcher had dreamed of, and yet it was happening too fast. He did not want their first time to be like this.

"S-slow down, Fen," he urged, hissing as Fenris took him hungrily into his mouth. "Fen, please…" Fletcher's resolve started to crumble as Fenris expertly worked his aching member, and his hips bucked of their own accord, pushing himself deeper in. It felt wrong, somehow, but Fenris was clearly very experienced at this and knew exactly how to please another man.

Another man.

Fletcher's blood ran cold and he gently pushed Fenris away, taking a step back, his head spinning at the sudden withdrawal. He leaned against the wall, gasping, while Fenris, still on his knees, looked up at him.

"What is it?" Fenris demanded, anxiety in his voice.

"It-it's too fast," Fletcher panted.

"Am I not pleasing you?"

"What?" Fletcher straightened up and glanced down at the elf, who looked back at him with fear and doubt in his green eyes.

"Am I not _pleasing_ you? Is this not what you wanted…"

…_Master_?

The word was unspoken, yet hung thickly in the air between them, and, for a brief and horrifying moment, Fletcher stood in Danarius's shoes, looking down not at the man he loved, but at his slave, whose only thought was how he could please the magister.

Fenris's eyes darkened and lowered, and he slowly rose, turning away from Fletcher, failure and defeat in his posture. "I-I am sorry," Fenris uttered, his voice thick and hushed. "I wanted to return the favour. What you did for me…I thought that was what you wanted. Again, I apologise."

"Fenris," Fletcher began, smoothing down his robe, mentally shaking himself.

"No, do not…" Fenris held up a hand that forbade Fletcher from moving nearer. "I-I think I should go." Despite his words, he didn't move, and Fletcher took a few cautious steps closer.

"Fenris, you haven't done anything wrong," he said in a gentle voice. "This is not supposed to be just about me; it's supposed to be about both of us."

"I have disappointed you," Fenris said, hanging his head.

"No you _haven't_," Fletcher said in a firmer tone, moving in front of Fenris. He gently clasped Fenris's chin, nudging it upwards, but Fenris would not meet his gaze, his eyes moving to the side. Seeing the sadness in them, Fletcher's heart clenched. "Is this the only way you know? Is this… "

"I was never allowed to take my own pleasure," Fenris whispered. "Sex was just a way to-to keep _him_ off my back, to get through the next hour. While he was sated, he would leave me be. This is all I know." He shook his head. "I thought… I thought that was what I was supposed to do."

"Oh, Fen…" Tears sprang to Fletcher's eyes, and, for a second, raw, biting fury took hold of him, and he vowed once again to rain agony upon Danarius should they ever meet, but he took a deep breath and rested his hands on Fenris's cheeks, placing a tender kiss on his lips. "It's not about one person gratifying another. It's about two people who care for each other expressing their feelings for one other."

Fenris squirmed and released a heavy sigh. "I have only ever _served_. I do not know how to be part of a couple in this way."

"Then, this is your first time."

"I…suppose it is," Fenris conceded, venturing an uncertain glance at Fletcher. "Do you-do you wish to proceed?"

"More than anything, love," Fletcher comforted. "But only if _you_ want to."

"I-I do," answered Fenris. "…More than anything. But I am… unsure."

Fletcher took Fenris's hands and laid them against his own chest, stroking them with his thumbs. "Let me show you," he offered soothingly, brushing his nose against the elf's. "Let me show you how to make love."

An unexpected flutter through Fenris's chest caused him to smile hesitantly. "I…" He nodded slowly and stroked Fletcher's hands in return. "I would…like that."

They stood silently for a moment, their breathing deepening, and Fletcher tilted his head, capturing Fenris's lips in such a tender and heartfelt kiss, a deep moan vibrated through Fenris's chest as a wave of yearning crested within him. Fletcher slowly and carefully withdrew and released one of Fenris's hands, holding tightly onto the other and leading him over to the fire.

"Let's make ourselves comfortable, Fen," he whispered.

Finding no words, Fenris nodded and the two men unfurled their bedrolls, placing them side by side next to the fire. Fletcher knelt down upon one and held his hand out to Fenris, who took it and sat down next to him. Fletcher removed his boots, placing them to the side, and turned to Fenris, laying one hand on his cuirass.

"May I?" Fletcher asked. "You'll be more comfortable."

Again, Fenris nodded mutely and, with Fletcher's help, loosened the ties of the cuirass and pulled it over his head. Fletcher then set it down next to his boots, along with Fenris's vambraces and pauldrons.

Fletcher reclined on an elbow and beckoned Fenris to lie next to him. Fenris did so, his halting movements betraying how nervous he was, and Fletcher knew this was something that couldn't be rushed.

"Let's just talk for a while, Fen," he suggested, and gently clasped one of Fenris's hands with his free one.

"What would you like to talk about?" asked Fenris, a little puzzled.

"Well, tell me what you like."

"You mean…?"

Fletcher nodded, and Fenris propped himself up on his elbows, taking a few minutes to process the question. "I…am unsure," he answered. "I have never given it much thought."

"Think about it now," Fletcher gently coaxed. "When you think about us together… what do I do? How do I touch you? Where? Is there anything you _don't_ like?"

Fenris's face fell a little. "I…do not wish to be… penetrated," he stated in a whisper.

"I-I would never…"

"I… know. I _should_ have known."

An awkward silence fell for a moment, and Fletcher gently stroked Fenris's hand. "Is there anything else you don't want me to do?" he asked.

Fenris nodded. "I would ask that you do not go behind me. I don't like that."

"Of course," Fletcher answered.

"Is there…?" Fenris turned toward Fletcher and mirrored his position, leaning on one elbow while his other hand held onto Fletcher's. "Is there anything that_ I_ should not do?"

"Nothing," Fletcher responded with a mischievous grin.

"Why am I not surprised?" asked Fenris with a hint of a smile, and Fletcher laughed softly, kissing the tip of Fenris's nose.

"Now, tell me," Fletcher prompted, releasing Fenris's hand and moving his hand up to stroke Fenris's hair. "When you think about me, how do I touch you? What do you like?"

Fenris edged a little closer and lowered his voice. "I like it when you do that…I mean, when you stroke my hair."

"What else?" whispered Fletcher, resting his head against Fenris's.

Fenris cleared his throat and released a shaky sigh as Fletcher's nails were gently drawn across his scalp and down the nape of his neck. "I-I can't," the elf sighed.

"You _can_, Fen. You're allowed to ask. You're allowed to tell me." Fenris closed his eyes, feeling Fletcher's warm breath against his cheek, and shivered as Fletcher slowly ran his hand down the front of Fenris's shirt, stopping to rest on his hip.

"I… I would like…" Fenris sighed and shook his head, years of conditioning preventing him from asking for anything that would benefit him or give him pleasure.

Fletcher's hand moved from Fenris's hip and went beneath his shirt, seeking out the warm, firm flesh of his abdomen, and slowly, torturously slowly, trailed upward, grazing a nipple before slowly working its way back down.

"Uh-" Fenris gasped and grabbed Fletcher's arm, a shuddering breath bursting from him, and he clutched at Fletcher, unfamiliar, intoxicating sensations pulsing through him. "Fletcher," he panted, his head falling back as Fletcher's lips brushed against his ear.

"Just tell me what you want," Fletcher susurrated, his moist, hot breath in Fenris's ear sending sharp jolts through his body, and he trembled as Fletcher tightly wrapped his arms around Fenris and tugged at the tip of his ear with his teeth. "Tell me."

"Fl…" Irrevocably lost, Fenris fell limp in Fletcher's arms and Fletcher lowered him to the ground, keeping one arm firmly wrapped around him, while with the other, he moved his hand beneath Fenris's shirt again and slowly pushed it up, exposing the elf's taut, hard abdomen.

"Tell me," he repeated, a soft growl beneath his dulcet words, his mouth hovering over Fenris's as his fingers explored every contour of the elf's sculpted belly.

"Fletcher…" Fenris's eyes opened and met Fletcher's, and they gazed at each other wordlessly for a long moment, their irregular breathing the only sound to be heard.

"Fletcher…" Fenris repeated.

"Tell me."

Fenris watched the reflected flames dance in Fletcher's brown eyes and his gaze roamed over the mage's pale skin, watched the bob of his adam's apple and moved downwards to the scant hairs that peeked over the neckline of his robe. He wanted that robe off. More than anything. He wanted to feel Fletcher's weight on him, for their bodies to come together, to feel Fletcher's skin against his own. He opened his mouth but still no words would come out.

"Tell me, Fen," pleaded Fletcher, a pained expression coming over him as he felt Fenris's hardness twitch against his thigh. He positioned himself between Fenris's legs, his hip pressing on the elf's groin, and Fenris squeezed his eyes shut; a moan, deep and clear and utterly wonderful, escaped and played music in Fletcher's ears.

"Fenris…that's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard," Fletcher groaned, his voice trembling, and, unable to hold back any longer, he seized Fenris's lips with his own, heat and want and need surging through him as Fenris's body undulated beneath him, the elf's hands grabbing at the back of his robe, tugging desperately at the fabric.

"T-take this off," Fenris rasped, breaking the kiss momentarily to catch his breath. "Fletcher…take it off, please."

"That's what you want?" Fletcher panted.

"Y-yes!" Fenris moved his hands to Fletcher's front, fumbling with the cords. A grunt of frustration was heard and Fletcher began to assist, deftly undoing the ties, and one side of his robe fell open, revealing a long, thin shirt. Fenris's eyes wandered down to Fletcher's stocky legs, so robust-looking, and a wholly new sensation originated deep in the pit of his stomach and spiralled outward, filling his core with a deep, exigent need.

"I want you," Fenris gasped and snaked his hands inside Fletcher's shirt, his mouth seeking out the mage's lips and Fletcher hungrily met him, his own hands running up Fenris's slender arms, and, as he lay on his back, indicating that Fenris was now in control, the elf did not relinquish his mouth and Fletcher was forced to gently push him away, gasping and moaning when his lungs felt ready to burst.

Fenris braced his hands on Fletcher's shoulders and pushed himself up to kneel between Fletcher's legs. He then moved his hands to the hem of his shirt and paused, his eyes fixed upon the panting Fletcher's.

"This is what I want," he said in a clear, unwavering voice.

Fletcher nodded, blinking away the sudden blurring of his vision, and he smiled blissfully and proudly, moving his hands to Fenris's and stroking them.

"Fen…do you know that I accept everything that you are and have ever been, and that I will never let you down? Do you believe that?"

"I…believe that," Fenris answered, a gentle light in his eyes. "And do you believe that I also accept you and that I will never let you down; nor will I ever leave your side, as long as I draw breath?"

Fletcher nodded slowly and ran his hands up and down Fenris's arms. "Do you believe that I love you, Fen?"

Fenris exhaled unsteadily and his eyes lowered. "I-I do," he answered roughly, and, although he longed to reciprocate, the words refused to leave his mouth, for deep inside, the part of him that remained forever fettered to Tevinter warned him that this happiness could never last.

His eyes moved to Fletcher's, finding no expectancy in the mage's brown eyes; no compulsion or influence in his steady gaze. Instead, there was unspoken acceptance, quiet understanding.

His eyes never leaving Fletcher's, he once again moved his hands to the hem of his shirt and slowly pulled it up and over his head, hearing a quiet exclamation from Fletcher while his sight was temporarily obscured. Having removed it, he placed the shirt on the ground and took Fletcher's hands, allowing the mage time to take in the sight before him.

Against Fenris's bronzed skin was etched an intricate network of ghostly silver filigree, lent a coppery hue by the flickering firelight. It vestured his upper body in its entirety and appeared to extend beyond the covering of his breeches. Fletcher's mouth fell slightly open and his eyes, wide with apprehension, roamed over the exquisite and monstrous legacy of Danarius.

"Do not be afraid," Fenris said, quiet and low. "You will not cause me pain by touching me, nor will you feel pain from doing so."

"I know you'd never hurt me," Fletcher stated again, pushing himself up to a sitting position, and he shrugged off his robe, assisted by Fenris, who knelt between his legs, gazing lovingly at the mage at all times, still unable to say the words he longed to. Together, they lifted Fletcher's shirt over his head and it was carelessly discarded. Fletcher wore nothing else beneath his robe and Fenris smiled softly, a hint of coquettishness in his eyes as they feasted on Fletcher's body.

Slowly, Fenris's eyes travelled back to meet Fletcher's, the hunger in them undeniable, and yet Fletcher reined himself in, giving Fenris complete control; something that Fenris realised and appreciated greatly.

"You are very handsome," Fenris articulated, his voice husky. Fletcher bit his bottom lip, moving his hands to Fenris's chest, but the elf evaded his touch and pushed himself up, taking a step back. His hands went to the laces on his breeches, and he slowly undid them, pushing them down and letting them fall, where he gracefully stepped out of them, standing proudly, completely unashamed of his nakedness.

Fletcher held his hands out to the elf, watching, awe-struck, as each perfectly-formed sinew and muscle moved with a fluid and lissom elegance with each tiny movement Fenris made. As Fenris stepped closer, Fletcher's hands came to rest on Fenris's svelte hips, his thumbs brushing lightly over the hard knobs of his pelvic bone. Fletcher's eyes travelled down sculpted, lean, yet powerful thighs, following the silver whorls and ridges that continued all the way down to Fenris's feet.

Gently, Fletcher applied downward pressure to Fenris's hips and the elf bent his knees, coming to sit astride the mage, their members brushing together, and Fenris wrapped his legs around Fletcher's back. Fletcher brought his hands round to Fenris's back, his fingers running up the nodes of his spine, and Fenris splayed his hands across Fletcher's chest as their foreheads came to rest together.

"And you're beautiful," Fletcher said thickly, snaking his arms tightly around Fenris's back, pulling the elf close. A shudder ran through both of them as their erections pressed together and Fletcher's breathing quickened, while Fenris attempted to steady his.

"I love you, Fen," Fletcher breathed, softly brushing his lower lip against Fenris's.

"I-I know," Fenris wavered, feeling light-headed and giddy while heat rose inside him like a phoenix from the ashes of his self-doubt, mistrust and bitterness; the ruins of his former life.

"Tell me what to do," Fletcher whispered against Fenris's mouth. "You're in charge, Fen; I'll do whatever you want. Anything for you."

"Uh…" Fenris released an involuntary moan, Fletcher's words and love as powerful a force as any he'd ever encountered, caressing and enveloping him, making him feel worthy, cherished…whole.

"Touch me," he whispered back, softly nipping at Fletcher's lips, a faint growl underscoring his words. Fenris reached behind himself and took one of Fletcher's hands, guiding it down to his cock, and their eyes locked together as Fenris stilled his hand. "I want you to touch me," he moaned, his eyes closing as Fletcher's hand encircled him, and he gasped, throwing his head back in abandon.

With his other hand, Fletcher clasped the back of Fenris's head and brought his lips to the elf's throat, gently sucking his taut, warm flesh, taking great care not to touch his markings. Fenris's entire body trembled and his fingers dug into Fletcher's shoulders, another shuddering moan leaving his lips.

Fletcher then opened his hand wide and took both his and Fenris's members, gripping them firmly, and Fenris again wantonly threw his head back, crying aloud as his hardness rubbed against Fletcher's. Emboldened, Fenris moved his own hand down, enmeshing his fingers in Fletcher's.

"Oh, Fen…" gasped the mage, who braced one hand on Fenris's shoulder, and the elf did the same. They began to rock back and forth, their other hands kneading, pulling and squeezing together as they rubbed against each other. Their breathing became more strident and laboured as each man approached his climax and their kisses more urgent, halting only when they reached their shattering release, almost simultaneously.

Their bodies slumped and they clung to each other, each propping the other up, and they sat, just holding each other, until their breathing had returned to normal.

Gently and wordlessly, Fletcher helped Fenris to climb off him. Reaching for his pack, Fletcher moistened a cloth with some rose water from a vial and tenderly cleaned Fenris's hands and lower regions with it, before the elf returned the favour.

Fenris then took Fletcher's hands and allowed himself to be guided to the mage's side, where they laid down together, bringing their hands up to the other's face. Fletcher moved one of his legs over Fenris's, and the elf slid his own leg between Fletcher's, and they lay entwined, gazing into each other's eyes.

"Love you," Fletcher mumbled drowsily as his eyes fluttered closed.

Only when Fletcher had drifted off to sleep, and when Fenris had made absolutely _certain_ that he was asleep, did the elf find his voice. After watching Fletcher in repose for a while, he reached for the mage's robe and covered them both with it. He then told Fletcher everything: every single word he'd wanted so desperately to say, but had not felt able to. Lying back down and closing his eyes, he made a vow that one day he would tell Fletcher to his face; that he would reciprocate the mage's own words of love; that he would say exactly what he felt.

That Fletcher was everything to him.


	58. Chapter 58

_Thank you to Mary, without whom most of you would be scratching your heads at several parts of this chapter, and thanks also to Haggardjax: for some reason, the site is not allowing me to reply to reviews/PMs at the moment, so I'm sorry for not getting back to you._

~o~O~o~

"Off to the market again, Mother?" Bethany's seemingly innocuous question was loaded with insinuation and Leandra knew it, but she played innocent.

"Hm? Oh, yes, dear. I thought we could do with a new tablecloth; this one is becoming rather tatty."

"I see," replied her daughter as she cleared the breakfast plates away. "Well, just so you know: we have plenty of carrots. As we did yesterday, when you brought back_ another_ bunch, and nothing else, despite being gone for over an hour."

"Yes, I used them for the carrot cake, didn't I, dear?" The amused lilt of Leandra's voice coincided with Bethany's poorly-hidden smile, before a grunt came from a corner of the room.

"Who _is_ he?" Gamlen sniped from his armchair, his arms crooked as his hands rested on his thighs.

"He, Brother?"

"Yes, _he_. You've been walking around here for the past week like a moon-faced simpleton, singing to yourself and staring into space. It's embarrassing for a woman of your age."

Incensed, Bethany placed her hands on her hips and stared at her uncle until he looked at her. "_If _Mother wants to walk around singing and staring dreamily at the moon or whatever,_ I'm_ happy for her, whatever the reason. And if the reason for that happens to be that she's _met a man at the market_," she said with emphasis, "then I am also happy about that. I would have thought you'd be pleased for your sister, Uncle."

"Let's not fanny about with _reasons_, Niece," Gamlen bit back. "Your mother _has _met a man; that's obvious. What _I'm_ concerned with is her notoriously poor taste in men. She always did go for the ne'er-do-wells."

"Are you talking about my father?" Bethany stormed. "You didn't even know him, and you sit there and dare to make judgements about him? And while we're on the subject of ne'er-do-wells, Uncle, I don't see any women breaking down _your _door! Now, why_ is_ that?"

Gamlen shot up out of his chair, causing the book he'd been reading to crash to the floor. "Because, while your mother pissed off to Ferelden with your father, I had to stay here and look after your grandparents, remember? How did I have the time to meet anyone?"

"Oh, so it's nothing to do with you being a wretchedly miserable no-account who despises everything and everyone, and looks like the arse-end of a mabari?"

"Daughter! Gamlen!" Leandra exclaimed, her palm slamming against the breakfast table. "I will _not_ abide cursing in this house, from either of you! I think apologies are in order!"

"Well, I _will_ abide it, because this is _my_ house!" Gamlen flung his arms up in the air and paced back and forth. "You two aren't bringing a copper into this house, and you tell me what to do in it?"

"Brother, I've told you that when Fletcher returns-"

"_If _he returns," snapped Gamlen. "Of all the bloody reckless things to do! Why couldn't he just get a labouring job like everyone else? Oh no, he has to be the dashing hero, going off in search of gold and riches while the rest of us have to make do on my wage! It apparently hasn't occurred to him that if he gets himself into trouble down there, he'll leave his mother and sister without a breadwinner! And you needn't look at me! I can't keep you two forever!"

Gamlen snatched up his jacket and toolbox and headed for the door. "Now, I'm off to the docks. _Someone _has to earn a crust around here!"

Jolted by the slamming of the door, Leandra drew a deep breath and picked up Gamlen's book, as well as straightening a picture next to the door.

"Mother, I'm sorry about that," Bethany sighed. "I just feel like I'll go mad, cooped up in here! I haven't been out for three days! How much longer will it be?"

"I don't know, dear," answered Leandra sadly, placing the book on the table and walking over to her daughter. "I'll see if I can find a friendly-looking templar at the market and ask. Something's happened at the Gallows, but nobody seems to know what. It's just too risky for you to be out with such a strong Templar presence about. I know how frustrated you must be, but hold on for just a little while longer."

Bethany groaned and took a seat at the table, and Leandra joined her. "Being stuck in here has made me think about Fletcher and Varric a lot, as well," she said with a sigh. "I hope they're all right."

"I'm certain they're up to all manner of mischief," Leandra answered brightly, forcing a smile and hiding her own worry. "When I return, we'll do the baking together, take your mind off things."

"Yes, I'd like that, Mother." Bethany moved her chair closer to Leandra's and tapped her mother on the arm. "So, tell me about these trips to the market of yours," she cajoled, hoping to lift both their spirits. "I suspect there are more to them than just _carrots_."

"Oh, it's nothing, dear," Leandra said, her cheeks growing pink. "I have met someone, but he's just a friend. He's at the market every day; he buys supplies from Mistress Jade's."

"Mistress Jade's? Is he a mage, then?"

"I think so," whispered Leandra, "but I haven't asked. I've been trying to get a good look at his hands." Both women laughed, before Leandra's expression turned serious. "_Don't _tell Gamlen, whatever you do; I'll never hear the end of it."

"I won't," Bethany assured her. "But…if he's a mage, how come it's all right for _him_ to wander around in front of the Templars, and not for me?"

"Well, he doesn't dress like a mage, and he doesn't carry a staff. He looks just like everyone else, but he_ has_ bought a few unusual things at the market. That was what got me talking to him in the first place: I was looking at the Earth Stars at Jade's. Your father used to use them in some of his infusions. While looking at a particularly pretty one, I was tapped on the shoulder; a gentleman asked if I knew what they were. When I told him I did, and why, he seemed pleased, and told me he's a herbalist."

"A herbalist? Isn't that rather a dishonest way of saying he's a mage?" asked Bethany suspiciously.

"Well, if he's dishonest, then so am I; I told him that I have two children, but failed to mention that _you_ were mages. One can't be too careful, darling, and I expect he was exercising similar caution."

"I suppose so," Bethany conceded. "So, what else did you discuss, besides fungi?" she prodded with a playful nudge to Leandra's arm.

"Oh, nothing exciting," laughed Leandra. "Family things, and the like. He lost his wife only a year ago, and I told him about your father, and you and Fletcher, but only minor details, you understand. I didn't mention Carver…not-not because-"

"It's all right, Mother. You hardly know him. I understand."

Leandra clutched Bethany's hand and smiled. "Well, I see him there most days," Leandra went on, "and we always exchange pleasantries. He's a very nice man, but just someone I pass the time with. I do look forward to our chats, though; he's a very nice man."

"So you just said," Bethany commented.

Leandra tutted, shook her head and stood up, but couldn't hide her smile. "Well, I should get going. I have _carrots _to buy. Will you be all right?"

"I'll be fine, and I hope you enjoy buying your carrots," Bethany joked, and she also stood up, kissing Leandra on the cheek.

"I will, dear. When things have settled down, and the templars have gone, perhaps you'd like to come with me and meet him? You'll like him, Beth. He's…"

"A very nice man. I get it," Bethany chuckled. "I'll look forward to that. Try to find out what's going on, won't you?"

"I'll do my best," Leandra promised. "Perhaps I should ask Messere Carrot; maybe he'll know."

"Messere Carrot? Don't you know his name?"

"Well, no, dear. I wondered if it would be too forward of me to ask."

"Oh, Mother! You really are daft. I'm sure he'd prefer you ask his name than call him Messere Carrot!"

"Oh, I know, Beth, but I'm rather inexperienced when it comes to things like this," Leandra said with a shy shrug. "I've only ever _known_ your father, and I don't know how to…well. I suppose enough time has passed, though, and I know your father wouldn't have wanted me to be lonely."

"No he wouldn't, Mother, and neither do Fletcher and I," Bethany encouraged. "Just be yourself, and you'll charm the pants off him!"

"I don't want to do _that_!" exclaimed Leandra, blushing, and they laughed together. "I'll just charm him a little bit…I know exactly how to get around the name problem. How do I look?"

"Lovely!" Bethany chirped, smoothing down her mother's hair. "Now, go and charm those pants off!"

"You _are_ naughty!" scolded Leandra, heading for the door. "I'll be back a little later. I'm…quite excited, now," she confided, laying a hand over her rapidly beating heart.

"Don't rush back!" Bethany called, and shooed Leandra out. Once the door had closed, her smile faded and she sighed, resting her chin on her hands. She sat back and looked at the four walls that were starting to feel like her prison since the mysterious 'incident' at the Gallows, before rising and entering the kitchen to wash the breakfast plates.

~o~O~o~

The two men stood stiffly in front of the desk, waiting for their commander to speak. She had her back to them, her arms held at her sides, as she stared out of the window in her office. Her subordinates wore the same uniform and armour of the Templar Order, but their demeanours sharply contrasted: the dirty-blond man with the large sideburns was relaxed, confident and at ease, while his red-haired counterpart stood awkwardly, his eye twitching as a bead of sweat ran down his temple, but he dared not wipe it away.

Presently, a heavy rap came at the door, and a dark-haired elf, wearing a black robe, entered. He laid his black, gnarled staff against the wall and stood next to the red-haired templar, clearing his throat.

"Excuse my tardiness, Knight-Commander."

The commander slowly turned around, her blue eyes lent the appearance of glass as the sun caught them, though when she spoke, her tone was anything but warm. "Thank you for finally joining us, First Enchanter."

The two templars continued to wait while a silent game was played out between the leaders of the Templars and the mages of Kirkwall. Knight-Commander Meredith waited for an explanation of First Enchanter Orsino's lateness; an explanation that the elven mage had no intention of supplying. At length, a huff was heard, and the blonde Knight-Commander leaned forward, resting her palms on the desk. The red-haired templar took a small step back.

"The ringleaders are still at large?" she demanded of the red-haired templar.

"Yes." He cleared his throat and straightened up. "Yes, Knight-Commander. The rest of the mages have been captured or killed, but Grace and Alain have not yet been located."

"I see," she said flatly, turning her gaze on the other templar. "Ser Karras, what have you discovered about this 'First Enchanter Hawke'?"

"I can tell you that," Orsino interrupted, undeterred by her cold glare. "There's no such person. If you had come to me first, we would have saved a lot of time. First Enchanter Raddick was killed in the fire at Starkhaven. I corresponded with him regularly, as I do with his successor, First Enchanter Bloom."

"_As_ I was about to say," Karras cut in, "we have established that Hawke was an imposter. He did seem genuine in his desire to turn the apostates over to us, however, he had accomplices, some of whom seemed dubious about his decision."

"And what of Thrask?" asked the knight-commander.

"He claimed that his arrival at the cave had coincided with that of this _Hawke_ person," said Karras. "I can't verify that, as they were both there when I arrived." Karras produced a piece of paper, which he unfolded and read. "My investigation has turned up a Hawke family living in the slums of Lowtown. We've had the house watched; over the last couple of days, a man and a woman of mature years have been observed leaving and entering the house. After bribing a few drunks at the local tavern, I've determined that the woman has a son matching Hawke's description, who walks around quite openly wearing mage's robes; apparently he earns a living as a hired sword, or staff, if you will.

"And that's not all," Karras went on, obviously pleased him himself. "Her son has just left for an expedition into the Deep Roads with a man matching the description of the wanted apostate, Anders."

"_Anders_," Meredith hissed, her eyes moving to the red-haired templar. "You know him, don't you, Knight-Captain?"

"Only vaguely," answered Cullen, painfully aware that his cheeks were flushing. "I spoke with him on occasion when I served at Kinloch Hold."

"I want him," Meredith commanded, jabbing the desk with a gauntleted finger. "Find out when this expedition is scheduled to end. That man made a mockery of the Templars at Kinloch Hold; he will not find escape from the Gallows so easy. And if the man calling himself Hawke is with him, I want him brought in for questioning. I want to know who he is, and what influence he had upon Grace and Alain."

"It's my understanding that Anders is now a member of the Grey Warden Order," Cullen supplied, his calm voice belying his churning insides.

"Then let their leaders come to me; they can either re-conscript him, or he can remain here. He will not, however, be permitted to roam around Kirkwall, thumbing his nose at authority!"

"It will be done, Knight-Commander," said Karras with a bow.

"Continue to watch the Hawke house, and have someone observe Thrask, as well," ordered Meredith.

"Is…that really necessary, Knight-Commander?" asked Cullen. "Thrask is not under suspicion, as far as we know."

Meredith's jaw tightened, but her voice retained its icy calmness. "Thrask spent an undetermined amount of time in the company of the apostates – who revealed themselves as blood mages when they assaulted four of my men during their recent escape, I'll remind you – as well as a mage who masqueraded as the First Enchanter of Starkhaven." She tilted her head, her eyes locked with Cullen's. "Perhaps you think I should promote him for that, Knight-Captain?"

"Of course not, Knight-Commander. I retract my demurral."

"There is no need to placate me, Knight-Captain," Meredith said quietly, and stood up straight, folding her hands behind her back. "One more thing. I want to know why no apostates have been captured along the coast recently. We know that there is a link of some kind to the undercity, but all activity seems to have ceased for the time being. Find out what you can; post operatives there if necessary." She sighed and her shoulders rose as she stifled a yawn. "You have your orders: I want Grace and Alain found, and any information pertaining to Hawke, Anders and this expedition brought to me forthwith. Maintain the watch on Hawke's house, and have someone observe Thrask. Dismissed."

Cullen and Karras bowed and left the office, leaving Orsino and Meredith alone. "Was there something more you wanted?" Meredith asked the first enchanter.

"You sent for me," answered the mage, folding his arms.

"The Templar-Mage covenant dictates that you are present at all meetings of this nature," she informed him as she turned her back on him, again facing the window. "It would appear that on this occasion, your input was not required. Good day to you, First Enchanter."

Angered but loath to let her see it, Orsino took up his staff. "_My_ day has just improved dramatically, Knight-Commander. I hope you enjoy yours." With that, he swept out the office, leaving the door open.

Turning a corner, Orsino spied Knight-Captain Cullen standing in a recess, mopping his brow with a handkerchief. The templar startled as Orsino silently arrived beside him.

"Yes, First Enchanter? May I assist you with something?"

"Weren't _you _relieved when Meredith didn't ask if you'd seen Anders _since_ Kinloch Hold?" asked the mage.

"What do you mean?"

"Come on," whispered Orsino. "You may have commanded the rank-and-file templars to keep their mouths shut, but the mages come to _me_. I know all about your deals with apostates, Cullen. I know all about Hawke, and Anders, and the rest of them."

"If you are attempting to blackmail me, then-"

"If you believe I'd blackmail one of the more moderate templars at the Gallows, then you're a fool, Cullen. I'm trying to help you, man. If Anders and Hawke are brought here, do you really think they'll keep their mouths shut about your hand in their freedom?"

Cullen swallowed hard, and said nothing.

"Just as I thought," said the mage. "And you think_ I_ want Anders brought here? He'd cause chaos. That breakout the other night will be _nothing_ compared to the discord he'd sew. We need to warn him, and Hawke, and let them make arrangements."

Cullen folded his handkerchief and put it in his pocket as he glanced around to ensure they didn't have company. "And why would you – an outspoken advocate of mages' rights – want to prevent any further escape attempts?"

"How many of those escaped mages were brought back alive?" Orsino demanded. "Three? Out of seven? There's your answer, Cullen. Mages' rights, I'm in favour of. Mages getting stuck with a templar's sword, I'm not."

Cullen's eyes closed momentarily and he sighed. "What would you suggest, then?"

"You need to get a message to Hawke's house," Orsino began.

"_I _need to?"

"Well, I can't do it, can I?" protested the mage. "I can barely take a piss around here without permission!"

"And how am I supposed to get a message to his house if it's being watched?"

Orsino rolled his eyes and groaned impatiently. "You're the knight-captain, aren't you? Send the men on an errand, distract them, whatever! You need to think of something!"

"Actions like that will be questioned."

"Well, maybe you shouldn't bother, then," snapped Orsino. "_You_ may be prepared to martyr yourself, but you need to think of Thrask, as well. I won't lie to you, Cullen: my interest in this is purely selfish. We need templars like you and Thrask at the Gallows; you treat the mages like people. You can't deny that Meredith is slowly replacing people like you with people like Karras and Alrik. I know you're a good man, Cullen; you can't allow yourself to be squeezed out."

"I am not going to discuss Knight-Commander Meredith's methods with _you_," Cullen retorted.

"Do what you think's best," said Orsino. "But just imagine for a moment if you and Thrask are moved on, and Anders is brought here. A very delicate balance is maintained here, Cullen, and things are changing; you know it, and I know it. A change like _that_ could be enough to tip things over the edge. If you don't want to be responsible for that, then I suggest you _do_ something, and fast."

Cullen knew he was being manipulated, but, much to his chagrin, he also knew that Orsino was right. "You must be busy, First Enchanter," he said crisply, walking away. "I won't keep you."

Orsino smiled darkly as he turned and headed off in the opposite direction.

~o~O~o~

Holding his frying pan over the fire, Fletcher grinned over at the sleeping elf who lay a couple of metres away. Every so often, Fenris's nose would twitch, or he'd mumble something incomprehensible. The mage had had to restrain himself from laughing in delight when Fenris had whispered "Fletcher," a time or two.

As soon as Fletcher cracked the eggs in the heated pan, Fenris's nose started to move in earnest, and he fidgeted a few times as the irresistible aroma of something other than porridge wafted into his nostrils. Shortly, Fletcher caught a glint of green as Fenris's eyelids slowly opened and his eyes homed in on the mage.

"Beat you this time," Fletcher said with a smile, and Fenris pushed himself up with a groan, his blanket pooling around his hips and revealing his tight belly, the muscles of which tapered down into a V-shape, the blanket only barely preserving his modesty. Fletcher coughed and averted his gaze, sniggering quietly to himself. "I managed to rustle up a few eggs that are still okay, plus I knew that Varric had a stash of salted bacon. I managed to _persuade _him to give us some. And by persuade, I mean I wouldn't tell everyone else about it," he laughed.

"You…have been out? When did you return? For how long were you gone?" Fenris asked with a frown.

"Not for long. Don't worry; if I'd got stuck in the hole, I would have had you here to help me. I just didn't want to wake you. You looked so peaceful."

Fenris snorted, a gentle smile curving his lips as he leaned back on his hands. "You will have to forgive me," he said to the mage, "but it is customary for me to be somewhat…_grouchy _in the morning; is that how you would say it?"

"That's exactly how I'd say it," joked Fletcher, his eyes lingering on the elf before he turned his attention back to the pan.

"Then you are fortunate; I doubt anything would cause me disquiet on _this_ morning." Fenris moaned quietly as his head fell back and he rotated it, slowly stretching his torso, and then his legs, one by one.

"Maker," Fletcher whispered to himself, his eyes once again on Fenris as the elf's muscles and sinews rippled beneath his skin. Setting the pan aside, he got onto all fours and started to crawl over to Fenris.

"What are you doing?" Fenris asked, an eyebrow cocked.

"I'm not in the mood for eggs," Fletcher replied as he reached Fenris's legs, and the elf leaned farther back. "In fact, I rather fancy a bit of elf for breakfast. Have you ever tried one?"

"I cannot say I have," Fenris drawled, both eyebrows raised this time.

"Well," said Fletcher, slowly tugging the blanket away from Fenris's lower body, "they're quite tasty, light, easy on the eye and very, very satisfying, from what I hear."

"Dolt!" Fenris laughed, leaning back on his elbows as the blanket was fully removed, uncovering his naked body. "The-the breakfast," Fenris stuttered, then, as he felt hot breath on his belly.

"Help yourself. I'm not stopping you," said Fletcher, looking up briefly, before planting a kiss on Fenris's navel, and slowly running his tongue downwards, stopping when he reached the base of the elf's tumescent member. He looked up again. "Still hungry, Fen?" he teased.

Only a shuddering gasp came from the elf as he lay on his back, one knee drawn up to rest against Fletcher's shoulder, and one of his hands found its way to Fletcher's head, his fingers tangling in the mage's hair.

All thoughts of breakfast – and pretty much anything else – fled Fenris's mind as Fletcher once again lowered his head. The mage did not speak again for a while.

~o~O~o~

"Master, there is no news, I fear. All avenues of investigation have been exhausted. It would appear that Fenris has…gone into hiding. I-I am sorry."

Lifeless, cloudy eyes bored into the messenger, who shifted nervously under the relentless stare of the message's recipient. As still as a statue, the recipient lowered his eyes, affixing the polished marble floor with the same piercing stare.

"_All _avenues?"

"Well, perhaps…perhaps there is something we overlooked, Master Danarius. We-we will redouble our efforts."

Danarius's eyes moved to his hands, which lay, neatly folded, in his lap. "Where is Hadriana?" he asked the messenger, his voice low and quiet.

"She…did not return from the Free Marches, Master; do you remember?"

"Of _course_ I remember!" bellowed the magister. "What do you take me for, a senile old fool?" Accustomed to such outbursts, the messenger lowered his head and uttered apologies. Danarius fisted his hands to hide the tremor that had developed in recent months. "Bring me my tonic!" he ordered.

The messenger scurried out of the magister's chambers, where a clamour erupted as several voices were heard at once. Presently, a blond, blue-eyed elf – who wore exquisite white and silver armour and carried a magnificent broadsword on his back – entered, carrying a goblet full of clear, golden liquid.

"Ah, Vionet," breathed Danarius, taking the goblet from his head bodyguard. "Your company always soothes me. Sit with me for a spell."

With an elegant dip of his head, Vionet crouched and sat upon a small stool at the magister's side as his master sipped at the concoction. "I have received distressing news," Danarius confided in his bodyguard. "The trail has gone cold. _He _has evaded my grasp once again, and Hadriana has not returned. What do you suppose that means?"

"He killed her, Master," said Vionet.

"So it would appear."

"I will kill _him_ for his treachery, Master," the elf promised solemnly.

Vionet stared ahead, waiting for his master's next word or command. When, after a few minutes Danarius said nothing, Vionet's eyes slowly moved to the magister, who was staring at his hands, which were shaking violently.

"Master?" Vionet cautiously rose to his feet and stood in front of Danarius, who looked up at him with confusion and anger in his eyes.

"What-what are _you_ doing here?" Danarius asked, his eyes darting from side to side. "Where is Hadriana? I need my tonic!"

Vionet took a deep breath and removed an ornate dagger from his belt, and knelt in front of his master, holding out the knife with both hands. "Master, forgive my impertinence, but you have already taken more tonic than is recommended. I humbly submit that you need something…stronger to sustain you."

Danarius nodded, panting as he took the dagger and hastily rolled up his sleeve, only to be stopped as a small hand clasped his wrist.

"No, Master…your physician advised against blood loss while you are…not yourself. Use me." Swiftly removing his vambrace, Vionet presented his bare arm to the magister and braced himself, gnashing his teeth as the blade cut into his flesh.

The dagger clattered to the floor along with the blood that spilled from Vionet's arm, which formed perfect ruby droplets on the smooth, white floor. Vionet clasped his arm to stem the flow and straightened up as a laughing female form materialised in front of him.

"Again?" she purred, sauntering over to the trembling magister and prodding him on the shoulder.

"He's having one of his turns," Vionet told her listlessly, looking over at the door. "Help him, and make it last longer this time."

"He's on his way out," the demon hissed. "You know it as well as I do. I cannot do the impossible! He grows ever more demanding."

"You will be paid," said the bodyguard with obvious disdain. He walked over to the door, still holding his bleeding arm, and opened it.

"Send in the bearer of ill-tidings," he commanded one of his underlings.

The messenger from Kirkwall was pushed into the room, followed by two more bodyguards to ensure there was no struggle. The messenger gasped at the trail of blood that led from the elf, and then dropped to his knees, praying to Andraste, when he laid eyes on the demon. With a nod from Vionet, the two bodyguards dragged the unfortunate messenger to his feet.

"You have disappointed your master," said the elf, his head twitching as a brief spasm rocked his body.

"Maker, help me! W-what _are_ you?" cried the messenger as Vionet advanced, a pale blue light streaming from his eyes, nostrils and ears.

"I am the messenger of death," said the elf in a flat monotone, and the sickening crunch of bone was heard as he drove his fist through the man's chest to grip his heart.

The messenger slumped to the floor, and Vionet looked down at him without emotion. "Get rid of him," he commanded the other guards, and the messenger was silently dragged away, leaving a thick, bright trail of blood in his wake. Vionet then turned to the demon. "You have your wages. Now, begone."

"Until the next time," hissed the demon, shaking her head. "I cannot keep him from insanity for much longer." Vionet stared blankly at her until she melted into the wall, and he gingerly stepped over the trail of blood, taking care not to slip, until he reached his master's side.

Danarius's chest rose and he cried out, his hands clutching the arms of his chair, and Vionet waited patiently until the light had returned to his master's eyes. After a moment, Danarius rose and reached for Vionet's arm, sending healing magic into it, closing the wound.

"Dear Vionet," he whispered, resting his now-steady hand against the elf's cheek. "You have done well, and will be rewarded for your loyalty." Removing his hand, he clapped loudly, twice, and the doors were opened by two of his servants.

"Give him whatever he wants; wine, food, women, men. Bathe and massage him," commanded Danarius.

"And clean this up," Vionet added, his eyes dull as he stared balefully at the floor.

"I will come to you later," Danarius murmured to Vionet.

"And I will await you, Master." With a bow, the head bodyguard was led out of the chambers, and, with a slow blink of his eyes, his latest victim was pushed into the darkest recesses of his memory, and forgotten.

~o~O~o~

Leandra smiled to herself as she spotted her new friend enter the market, and turned away, not wanting to appear too eager. She rifled through a few trinkets on one stall before moving onto the next.

"I had hoped to see you here. Good morning, dear lady," said the man with a small bow.

Leandra turned around and smiled at him, nodding her head in return. "And good morning to you, messere. I was not certain I would see you here today, with so many templars around."

"Oh?" he asked, a knowing glint in his eyes as his smile broadened. "And why should I be concerned by that?"

"No particular reason," answered Leandra with a knowing look of her own. "Have you heard what's happened? No one seems to know."

"I am not certain; they appear to be searching for someone. I would surmise that one, or more, of their mages has escaped."

"That's what I thought," she replied quietly. "I wish those mages all the luck in the world."

The gentleman tilted his head and looked at Leandra thoughtfully. "As do I, dear lady. If I might venture…was your husband also a _herbalist_?"

"My husband was many things," she answered with an enigmatic smile.

"Of course," he said apologetically. "Forgive me; I did not mean to pry."

"No, no…you didn't. It's just that, as I'm certain you are aware, one must exercise caution in times such as these."

"Indeed one must. You are wise, as well as beautiful," he said kindly.

Leandra hung her head and smiled, a blush burning her cheeks. "My mother warned me about charmers and flatterers, you know."

"Then I see where _your_ wisdom comes from."

Leandra cleared her throat and attempted to push her smile down. "Well, what brings you here today, Messere…?"

"Please," he said, extending his hand. Leandra took it, the tips of her fingers brushing over the rough patches on certain parts of his palm: a dead giveaway that he was a mage. Her stomach fluttered, and she looked up as he raised her hand to his lips, softly kissing her knuckles.

"Please, you must call me Quentin," he insisted.

"Well, in that case, you must call me Leandra," she replied as he released her hand.

"Leandra. What a lovely name." He crooked his arm, and Leandra rested her hand on his elbow as he led her around the market.


	59. Chapter 59

_Thank you, Mary, over and over and OVER again! ;-)_

_With the introduction of Danarius and Vionet in the last chapter, I've started a supplement to the main story entitled 'Memoratus in Aeternum', meaning 'Never Forgotten'. Have a read if you'd like some back story and history to Leto, Danarius and Vionet._

~o~O~o~

"Will you be all right, Fen?" Fletcher asked the elf as they peered around a corner into the main chamber. "They're all up and they'll all be looking at us when we enter. Or, they'll be pointedly _not _looking at us. There might be a few comments, as well. Do you think…you'll be okay with that?"

Fenris's hair fell over his eye as he tilted his head slightly, looking at Isabela and Varric in particular. "If they have nothing better to discuss than us, then let them talk. _Some_ of us have fuller lives than they do."

Fletcher's head slowly turned towards him, a bewildered smile forming. "I…wasn't expecting you to say that."

Fenris sighed quietly and tossed his hair out of his eye, looking at the wall. "You and I…we are…together, now." He quickly faced Fletcher and a faint smile crinkled the edges of his eyes. "Truly together. We will face whatever they have in store for us _together_." He took Fletcher's hand, and the mage's stomach quivered. "Last night…and this morning," he said with a serene smile, "it-it was the best night of my entire life."

"So far," Fletcher added softly.

"So far." Fenris released Fletcher's hand, moving his own hand to Fletcher's cheek. "I feel…something is different. Something has changed, within me, and yet I am the same. I cannot explain it."

"You've fallen in love," whispered Fletcher, wrapping his arms around Fenris's waist. "I hope," he added with a grin.

"Is that how it feels?" asked the elf quietly, resting his elbows on Fletcher's shoulders. "As though…?" He shook his head, unable to sufficiently verbalise his feelings.

"As though you're invincible?"

A grin brightened the elf's face, and he nodded. "Yes. I feel that I could face any trial, any hardship, as long as you are at my side."

"I'll _always_ be at your side, Fen. I love you." Lowering his lips to Fenris's, he pulled the elf close, and moaned quietly as he felt Fenris melt into him

His smile still on his lips, Fenris gently pulled away, his eyes moving to the side as he stroked Fletcher's arm. "Come, then; let us see what awaits us."

An unpleasant churning in Fletcher's stomach held him in place as Fenris turned and walked around the corner. He'd hoped that this time Fenris would requite his words, his feelings; he suspected that such words would not come easily to the elf, but still, Fletcher could not help feeling a little deflated.

But hadn't Fenris said, in not so many words, that he loved Fletcher? That he would always be at his side? That he could face anything so long as Fletcher was with him? Was it so important that he actually say those three words?

"Fletcher," Fenris called from around the corner, a nose and a flash of white hair just visible. "We are together, are we not?"

Fenris hadn't requested that they enter the chamber separately, nor had he quailed at the thought of enduring the banter that they were bound to be subjected to.

"Coming, Fen. I'm just being an idiot." Fletcher joined the elf, and, both smiling, they entered the main chamber. Together.

Almost as soon as they appeared, Tufty, who had been lying next to Anders, jumped up and trotted over to the twosome, oinking excitedly. Fenris rolled his eyes and spoke to the nug sternly, but it didn't escape Fletcher's notice that when Fenris looked over at Sprinkles – who, as usual, ignored the elf – his frown deepened.

"Hey! Elf!" Varric shouted as they walked over, and Fletcher braced himself. "Your hair's all mussed up! Yeah, right there at the back!"

"I believe you are in error," answered Fenris calmly without looking at Varric, or touching his hair.

"That's nothin'!" Torbal exclaimed loudly and mischievously. "Hawke, you got boot prints on the back of your robe!"

Laughter, mingled with disapproving – or nervous - jeers, filled the cavern, and Fletcher and Fenris continued to walk, heads held high, through the braying throng. "You are mistaken, Dwarf," Fenris countered. "I do not wear boots. Perhaps if you refrained from…certain _activities_, your eyesight would improve."

This time, the laughter was loud and raucous, and even Anders managed a wry snort. "Ha! Maybe I should! Good comeback!" Torbal boomed, and he walked over to Fenris, offering the elf his hand. Fenris looked at it, and then at Fletcher, who was still laughing, and shook his head, declining the dwarf's offer. Torbal guffawed again before slapping Fenris's shoulder and walking away.

"Fenris," Fletcher choked, wiping his eyes and sighing, "that was perfect! I'm so glad you're not offended. It'll die down when they see you're not bothered."

"It will die down when _I _say it dies down," murmured the elf, and Fletcher again burst out laughing, joy springing up inside him. "I believe I will…_water the flowers_ before breakfast," Fenris whispered to Fletcher, and he walked away wearing a hint of a smile.

"I'll get breakfast, then," Fletcher called after him, "and when you come back, I'll _fertilise_ them."

Fenris paused briefly to shake his head, before continuing, with Fletcher's dopey gaze following him.

"Snap out of it, you!" Isabela chided with a none-too-gentle thump to Fletcher's arm. Fletcher turned his head and cast the pirate a long-suffering look.

"Isabela?"

"So," she began without preamble, "any new material for my story? Anything shocking? Disgusting? _Illegal_? All contributions are welcome."

"Well, I don't know," answered Fletcher casually. "Why don't I take a look at this story of yours and get the lie of the land?" He started walking quickly over to Isabela's bedroll, and the pirate moved in front of him, laughing.

"What's the rush?" she asked with a slightly manic smile. "How about later on, when we're all settled?"

"We're settled _now_," he replied, his eyes glinting. "What's the matter, Isabela? I thought you _wanted _me to read your story."

"Oh, I do! I'd just rather that Fenris was around to read it as well, and according to Torbal, we're all setting off immediately after breakfast. Later, I promise."

"Fenris isn't reading a word of that book until I've reviewed it," Fletcher insisted as Isabela moved to her pack, slinging it over her shoulder. "Let me have a quick look; he'll be back in a minute."

"No, it's all right; I have everything packed up, now. Later," she chirped, and winked at Fletcher before turning away.

"Why, Isabela, anyone would think you have something to _hide_."

"Who, me?" She quickly turned around, batting her eyelashes, a split-second frown forming, and then disappearing when Fletcher didn't return her smile. "I'm an open book, sweetheart."

"Unlike your _books_, then?"

"Those who speak in riddles, erm…" she trailed off as Fenris, having returned, appeared beside Fletcher. "Well, it looks like this conversation is over; Fenris is back, so you _can't_ look at it, can you?"

"Have I missed something?" Fenris demanded.

"Actually, I've changed my mind," Fletcher said. "I think Fenris _would_ like to look at it. Let's _all _look at it."

Isabela's head whipped around and she held a hand up to her ear. "Oh! I think I hear…Sebastian calling me," she blustered, quickly gathering her pack up as it slid off her shoulder. "Later, like I said!" she twittered, quickly moving away from them.

"Sebastian is praying," Fenris observed with a look at the supplicant archer.

"She's definitely nervous about that book," said Fletcher. "Let's try and get another look at it later."

"Agreed," whispered Fenris, his eyes moving to Fletcher's hands. "Where is my breakfast, Mage?"

Fletcher folded his arms. "_Look_, while you were killing the flowers or whatever, _I_ was investigating and unnerving the suspect." At Fenris's arched eyebrow, he leaned closer. "You've changed," he joked. "There's confident, and there's _cocky_, Fenris."

"There is no need to be vulgar," the elf deadpanned.

"And you're just as pure as freshly-fallen snow, aren't you?" Fletcher teased, and Fenris finally cracked, his laughter gusting out of him.

"You have me there," admitted the elf, and he nodded at the tunnel where he'd passed water. "Go and do what you must;_ I_ will fetch breakfast." Fletcher grinned and squeezed his arm, and headed to the tunnel, but stopped when he heard Fenris quietly clearing his throat. "Perhaps tomorrow…_you _will provide…breakfast?"

Fletcher's mouth fell open and he goggled at the elf's back as Fenris slowly sauntered over to where Thirin and Sheldon were serving porridge with dried fruits. "What _have_ I created?" Fletcher whispered to himself, beaming widely, his stomach burning. Then, remembering that he was surrounded by lots of other people, he hastily cleared his throat and affected a solemn expression, before going to the tunnel, his entire body tingling.

~o~O~o~

Knight-Captain Cullen sat at his small desk in one of the draughty corridors of Templar Hall, hastily amending the duty roster. Luckily for him, Ser Radley – the templar usually responsible for the roster – had gone to the infirmary with a stomach complaint. Instead of delegating the task, Cullen had taken it on himself.

He'd already sent Ser Karras back to the coast to co-ordinate the renewed search for apostates, and, in accordance with Meredith's orders, he'd reluctantly assigned Ser Cody – a knight of equable temperament – to discreetly observe Ser Thrask. All he had to do now was find a suitable man to keep watch over Hawke's house.

Scanning the list, he decided on one of the templars who'd recently transferred over from Starkhaven; after the fire that had ravaged the Circle Tower there, some of the templars had requested, and been granted, reassignment. Such a templar would not yet have been influenced by the internal politics of the Gallows, and was therefore suitable for Cullen's purposes. Closing the book, he checked his pocket to ensure his letter was safely tucked away and made his way to the training yard.

Not wishing to disturb the round of sword training that was currently underway, he waited for it to finish and then approached the head trainer, asking for his charge. He was led to a small group of recent inductees, some of whom spoke with a strong Starkhaven accent, while others did not.

"Ser Ruben?" he asked, and a tall, athletic-looking man stood stiffly to attention.

"Knight-Captain!" he answered with no discernible accent, recognising Cullen's insignia.

"As you were," said Cullen, and Ser Ruben relaxed a little and nodded. "You have completed your training for today?"

"Yes, ser. I'm due to start my duty in the Great Hall at two bells, ser."

"You have been re-assigned. You will accompany me." Cullen beckoned the knight, who stepped into line beside him.

As they walked through the halls, Cullen glanced at Ser Ruben and frowned. "Do I know you from somewhere?" he asked.

"Um…I don't think so, ser," Ruben answered. "Were you ever posted to Starkhaven, ser?"

"No…were you ever posted to Kinloch Hold?"

"Kinloch _Hold_?" a small gasp came from Ruben, and he quickly attempted to compose himself, but not before Cullen had noticed his reaction. "Er, no, ser. Were-were you?"

Cullen halted, and his charge stopped next to him. "Yes, I was there until approximately eighteen months ago. You've heard about what happened there, I take it?"

Ruben nodded slowly, his eyes wide. "Yes, ser. I heard that the losses were grievous."

Cullen said nothing, and continued walking.

"Begging your pardon, ser, but I'm sorry if I spoke out of turn, or brought back unhappy memories for you."

"No," Cullen mumbled quietly. "You didn't. The memories are _always_ with me. You were fortunate to have been posted to Starkhaven."

"Actually, ser, I originally applied to Kinloch Hold, but was told that it was overstaffed at the time, and was sent to Starkhaven."

"Then you had a lucky escape," Cullen answered, bitterness entering his voice.

"Yes, ser." Ruben didn't consider what had happened at Starkhaven to be _lucky _in any way, but kept his thoughts to himself.

They walked on in silence until they reached the outer gates, where they were waved through. Cullen could tell by Ruben's demeanour that he was desperate to speak, and, when they had embarked on the small rowing boat, his subordinate could no longer contain himself.

"Ser," he began nervously. "I'm sorry to keep on, but…did you know anyone at Kinloch Hold?"

"I knew_ several_ people," Cullen answered impatiently, wanting to move the conversation along.

"Of-of course, ser; what a stupid question. I'm sorry, ser."

Cullen sighed. He knew what it was like to be a nervous recruit in a strange, new place. Although Ruben was no raw trainee, Cullen felt some empathy for the man and what he'd been through, and his irritation waned. "What would you like to ask of me?"

"Oh, nothing in particular, ser," Ruben said warily. "I just remember, as a child, that apostates from my neck of the woods were always sent to Kinloch Hold or Nevarra. It never made any sense to me that they were sent across the sea, when there were Circle Towers throughout the Free Marches."

"I think it was a matter of space," answered the knight-captain. "The towers in the Free Marches were always overcrowded, or so I'm told. I can't imagine the journey from the Anderfels or Antiva to Ferelden was pleasant; it would have taken months. Where are _you_ from?"

"The Anderfels, ser."

"And you applied to Kinloch Hold?" asked Cullen, astonished. "Why in the world would you want to be posted so far from home?"

"I have family in Ferelden, ser."

Cullen nodded before huffing and shaking his head. "One of the mages at Kinloch Hold, Anders, hails from the Anderfels. He is now at large in the Free Marches."

"I…don't recognise the name, ser," said Ruben with a deep frown.

"I'm not surprised. He refused to give the templars his real name, and so 'Anders' was given to him, as we had to call him something. He looks a bit like you, come to think of it; perhaps that's why I thought I knew you. You Anders all have golden hair and olive skin, don't you? Tall, as well."

"Mostly, yes, ser, though there are exceptions. How old is he?"

"I couldn't tell you for certain; maybe in his mid-twenties. Anyway," he went on, moving the subject away from Kinloch Hold, "Ser Karras will need a few more men along the coast when we're done in Lowtown. I've assigned you there permanently from tomorrow; it should be more interesting than standing around in the Great Hall, no?" Receiving no answer, he raised his voice a little. "Ser Ruben?"

"Oh! Forgive me, ser; I-I was momentarily distracted," stammered Ruben, his face reddening. "Yes, ser; permanently assigned to the coast. I will serve in whatever way I can."

"A word of warning, Ser Ruben," Cullen said sternly. "Do _not _become momentarily distracted should you find yourself addressing the Knight-Commander."

"I won't, ser, and I appreciate the advice," replied Ruben with a dip of his head.

"And don't let Karras give you all the menial tasks," Cullen counselled, his voice softer. "You are of equal rank to him. Do not allow him to push you around. Should you have any problems, come to me."

"Thank you very much, ser," Ruben said with a hesitant smile, and the two men continued the rest of their trip to the mainland in thoughtful silence.

~o~O~o~

After several hours' trek through the next tunnel – during which Fletcher noticed that they had considerably fewer provisions to carry - the group finally reached the point on Anders's map where the tunnel forked.

"Who wants to come take a look at tunnel seven with me?" Varric asked. "There must be _something_ down there worth screwing over your own brother for," he muttered in an aside to himself. "You going to carry on, Hawke?"

"Yes, we'll keep going on down the tunnel and find somewhere suitable to camp," Fletcher answered. "Whoever wants to go with Varric, take some dried rations with you; you'll be gone for a few hours, at least."

Unsurprisingly, Isabela immediately volunteered. While Fletcher reminded her that he hadn't forgotten about her story, a few of the humans also stepped forward, as did Sebastian and Anders.

"I want a _proper _dwarf going with you," Fletcher teased, concerned at how quiet and serious Varric had been lately. Varric nodded and rolled his eyes, forcing a grim smile for Fletcher's sake.

"Proper dwarf, right here," announced Vonim, striding to the front of Varric's small group. "Think you can keep up, Short Stuff?" he asked Varric, who was approximately an inch shorter than him.

"Quit standing on tiptoes, you bloody cheat," was Varric's rejoinder, and Fletcher smiled to himself, glad to see a little of Varric's humour. "Let's get this over with, then. See you later, guys."

"I'll catch up," Anders called over, and Varric nodded at him as he and the others departed.

"What is it?" Fletcher asked him quietly.

Anders took Fletcher away from the others and Fenris watched them carefully, although he knew that Fletcher would apprise him of what had been said.

"I don't want to alarm you, Hawke," Anders whispered, "but I've been getting…something." He tapped his temple, and Fletcher quickly glanced at the group behind them before turning back to Anders.

"You're sensing something?"

"I think so. It's the same feeling I had before; I can't quite pinpoint anything, yet, but it's there. It's difficult to explain to a non-warden, Hawke."

Fletcher nodded and moved close to Anders. "Could it be the darkspawn that Bartrand's group encountered?"

Anders shook his head. "I can still sense them, Hawke, but they can't reach us now; they're heading in the wrong direction. No, I'm sensing something…ahead of us. Where we need to go."

"Great," Fletcher muttered, his heart suddenly leaping in his chest. "And you can't be any more specific than that?"

"I'm sorry, no. We're not in any danger _yet_, but I'd advise you not to go too far." Anders took out his maps and showed Fletcher where they were. "Make your way to this junction, about half a mile ahead, and stay there until we return. There's a chamber about a mile ahead of that where we can make camp later. While you're at the junction, have a look in the adjoining tunnels for some lyrium in a form we can use. I've been feeling it lately; have you?"

"Yes. Fenris and I found a little bit last night, but we couldn't reach it," answered Fletcher.

Anders dropped his voice lower. "I don't know about you, Hawke, but I'm running low."

"Shit!" Fletcher hissed. "I was going to ask _you_ how your supplies were…bloody hell, there's a whole sack of lyrium potions in the first chamber that we can't get to!"

"I know," Anders said angrily, before sighing. "Just see what you can find. We're in no state to take on darkspawn with what we currently have. Ooh, if I could get my hands on that Bartrand…"

Fletcher laid a hand on Anders's shoulder. "I'll see what I can find. You'd better go."

Anders sighed and nodded. "All right. Remember what I said: don't go too far."

As Anders walked into the tunnel, Fenris moved to Fletcher's side. "Is something amiss?" he asked, concerned.

Fletcher slowly nodded, his gaze cast downward. "Anders thinks there are darkspawn ahead. Right in front of us. We won't be able to avoid them this time."

"How far away? How many?" Fenris queried, immediately formulating strategies in his mind. "Fletcher?" he prodded softly when the mage didn't reply.

"Sorry. I'm just…" Fletcher sighed and closed his eyes.

"You are thinking of your brother." A small hand came to rest on Fletcher's elbow, and he looked at the elf, his eyes moist.

"Fenris…promise me you won't do anything stupid, like throwing yourself at them or…and-and if there's an ogre, just stay back, all right? Promise me. Please, Fen…I-I couldn't bear it if…"

Fenris quickly steered Fletcher to a shadowy recess, and, with a hard look at the group – just in case they were watching, which they mostly weren't – he turned back to the mage, dismayed to see him wiping his eyes.

"Maker, I'm sorry, Fen. I don't know where this has come from," he uttered, shaking his head in self-remonstration. "Ha! I thought Anders would be the first one to crack, really I did," he sniffed, forcing a brittle laugh.

"You are strong," Fenris consoled. "Do not doubt that. This time, the darkspawn will _not _prevail."

"Promise me," urged Fletcher.

"I will be cautious-"

"I _said_, promise me."

Fenris looked into Fletcher's eyes and waited until he'd taken a few deep breaths. "I promise I will be cautious. I cannot promise anything else, as we do not yet know what awaits us. I would not break my word to you."

Fletcher nodded and glanced over at the group, unable to meet Fenris's eyes.

"I would not needlessly throw my life away," the elf promised. "I give you my word on _that_. I have too much to live for. Now." With a gentle smile, he reached for Fletcher's fur collar and straightened it. "Trust me."

"I do, Fen…"

"And you may bestow me with whatever protective magic you feel is necessary."

"You-you'd let me? But…it causes you discomfort, Fen. I wouldn't want to-"

"Any discomfort I experience will be a trifle compared to that of seeing you distraught," the elf murmured. "Just…warn me first?"

Fletcher bit his lip as tears formed anew in his eyes, touched that Fenris would endure pain to set his mind at ease.

"Enough of this," Fenris gently chided. "Take a deep breath…release it," he instructed, remembering Anders's directions when they were at the Dalish camp. "Are you all right now?" he asked when Fletcher had calmed himself, and the mage nodded with a wan smile. "I will take some of the burden from your shoulders."

Walking over to the rest of the group, Fenris called Torbal over to him. "Ser Dwarf, will you walk beside me?"

With a laugh, Torbal bowed and straightened up. "Well, sure, _Ser Elf_. Will you shake my hand?"

"Certainly not," Fenris answered with a quirk of his lips, and Torbal chuckled heartily. "Follow us," he instructed the group, leaving Fletcher at the rear of the group with the space and solitude Fenris knew he needed.

Fenris looked back for a moment and caught Fletcher's eye, who silently mouthed, "I love you." He was rewarded with a warm smile and a nod from the elf, the fondness in Fenris's eyes all the answer he would ever need.

~o~O~o~

"Have you visited Lowtown before?" Cullen asked Ruben as they made their way through the bustling market at its centre.

"Only briefly, ser; since arriving here, most of my time has been taken up with training and drills."

Cullen nodded, remembering how he'd also thrown himself into training after the incident at Kinloch Hold. He laid a hand on Ruben's back, mustering a sympathetic half-smile. "I have a personal errand to attend to while we're here; take a look around the markets, and meet me at the slums when you're ready." He gave directions to Ruben.

"Thank you, ser!" Ruben said brightly, warming to the knight-captain who wasn't as severe as he'd first appeared to be. "I won't be long."

"Take your time," said Cullen. "Let's call it an hour."

Ruben bowed to his captain and thanked him again, and Cullen left him, once again checking that his letter was safely in his pocket.

Upon reaching the slums, Cullen sought out the templar on duty. Since the breakout at the Gallows, a templar had been posted in each precinct of Lowtown; what the residents of the slums did not know was that this particular templar was also keeping an eye on the Hawke household.

"Has there been any activity?" Cullen asked the templar.

"The lady of the household arrived home not long ago," he told Cullen. "The gentleman appears to work shifts and I would guess that he will come home at approximately five bells. Apart from that, nothing of note."

Cullen nodded. "I relieve you. Your replacement will be here shortly; I will stand in his stead until his arrival. You are dismissed."

The templars folded their arms across their chests and bowed in salute. Cullen waited until his counterpart had left, and then he glanced over at the small dwelling at the top of the steps. With his heart quickening, he strolled over and ascended the steps, arriving at the door. He rapped firmly upon it and waited.

A twitch of a curtain caught his eye, and then he heard muffled voices, both female. His brow creased; he was only aware of one female residing in the Hawke house, although he supposed the other one could be a guest. After a few minutes, the door was opened by a lady in her fifties, and Cullen immediately spotted the family resemblance to Hawke.

"Good afternoon to you, madam," he said with a respectful bow. "Am I addressing the mother of Messere Fletcher Hawke?"

The look of anxiety on Leandra's face answered his question. "Is…everything all right, Ser Knight?" she asked, before she remembered where her son was, and who she was speaking to. Too late, she stopped herself, realising that she'd given herself away.

"I have not seen your son recently," Cullen said quietly, glancing behind him, "as I understand that he is currently in the Deep Roads. I am here to deliver a letter to him."

"What do you want with him?" Leandra demanded, her tone uncharacteristically fierce. "If you think I'm going to assist you in his capture, you have another think coming. I'm going to have to ask you to leave, ser."

"You misunderstand me, madam." Cullen passed the letter to her, and she took it, her eyes never leaving his. "This letter is addressed to your son and to his friend, Anders. I would ask that you give it to them as soon as they return home; _before_ if possible. It is for their benefit."

As he released the letter, Cullen's hand brushed against Leandra's, and his body hummed as an echo of mana resonated within him. She was not a mage, he was certain, but she _had _been in contact with a mage, and recently.

"If I might ask, madam, has your son returned from the Deep Roads?"

"You people seem to know where he is, so perhaps _you_ could answer that for me?" Leandra retorted, not meaning to be rude to the polite man, but the appearance of any templar instantly set her nerves on edge, and she felt especially worried for Bethany now that Fletcher was gone.

"To the best of my knowledge, madam, he has not yet returned. Please…give the letter to him when you can. I am certain you will also want to read it, and I assure you, you will find nothing sinister within. I am sorry to have disturbed you."

With another bow, he departed, leaving Leandra staring at the letter. As he reached the bottom of the steps, he heard the door close and the bolt slide across. With heaviness on his brow, he walked to the spot where he'd relieved the templar earlier, and waited for Ser Ruben to arrive.

Ruben was punctual, and met Cullen almost an hour after they'd parted. After exchanging pleasantries about Ruben's trip to the market, Cullen turned to business and explained Ruben's duties to him. What he failed to mention was that he strongly suspected that Hawke's mother was harbouring – or at least knew – another apostate, but he couldn't act on those suspicions as he'd had no business taking a letter to her in the first place.

"Your shift will end at eleven bells, Ser Ruben, when you will be escorted back to the Gallows for prayers and sleep. Ser Graham will relieve you at eight bells for a toilet and supper break; most of us go to the Hanged Man. Don't get drunk," he warned. Ser Ruben nodded solemnly, but relaxed when he detected a ghost of a smile from Cullen.

"Observation is not the most exciting of duties," Cullen went on, "but it's relatively safe. Crime does occur here, but only the truly idiotic would engage a templar. And, from what I hear, Ser Ruben, you are skilled with a sword. I doubt you will need to use it, though. And I'm certain one of the city guards will find his way here to keep you company later on; they get just as bored as we do. Now, I must return. Maker watch over you."

"And you, ser; and thank you," Ruben replied. They once again saluted each other, and Cullen departed.

When he'd gone, Ruben exhaled and leaned against a wall, his heart pounding. Was the man that Cullen had spoken of – Anders – the man he'd been seeking for the past twelve years? The man he'd feared was dead following the disaster at Kinloch Hold? The man who was the very reason he'd joined the Templar Order in the first place?

He would have to be careful; he'd almost given himself away with his questions. Straightening up, he began a slow walk around the perimeter of the slums, keeping one eye on the Hawke residence.

He would just have to wait a little while longer.

~o~O~o~

By the time Fenris and his group had found the junction, Fletcher's mood had brightened, and he was back to cracking jokes and discreetly flirting with Fenris when the chance arose. Fenris knew that Fletcher wasn't completely himself, but he was glad to see him smiling at least.

They stopped for a break, and Fenris was once again forced to fend off Tufty's attentions and corral Sprinkles when he wandered off, although the stubborn nug still refused to follow directions. Fletcher suspected that Fenris was quite proud of the fact that Tufty now responded when Fenris called his name; he also suspected that Fenris was annoyed that Sprinkles did not. It was, in fact, a sentiment shared by the entire group, although not one of them was brave enough to say it out loud.

"Shall _I _round him up again?" Fenris groused to Fletcher when Sprinkles decided to take off down a small tunnel at considerable speed.

"I'll come with you," offered Fletcher, relishing the chance to be alone with Fenris, even for a few minutes. "I'm having kissing withdrawals," he whispered to the elf, who quickly followed the nug into the tunnel, but, just before he disappeared, he turned back and locked eyes with Fletcher. The mage forced down an idiotic grin and went after him.

"Come back!" Fenris ordered, breaking into a run as the nug charged through the tunnel. Rounding a bend, Fenris felt his markings flare into life, and he stopped dead, his mouth hanging open at the sight that met him.

"I can feel it…I'm coming," Fletcher called from further back in the tunnel, an odd note in his voice. He entered the small chamber seemingly in a trance and slowly walked over to the far end, barely noticing when Fenris moved in front of him.

"Do not touch it," Fenris warned, pushing Fletcher with his hands, but Fletcher pushed back, irresistibly drawn to the thick, azure blue veins that snaked along the cavern walls, ghostly fronds branching off them, lulling, calling, beckoning Fletcher closer.

"Let me just…let me just get a bit closer, Fen," Fletcher breathed. "I just want to touch it…just a little bit…it-it's whispering to me…can't you hear it?"

"Get a hold of yourself!" Fenris barked, and Fletcher blinked, his eyes, pupils dilated, moving down to the elf, whose markings had reacted with the lyrium veins and glowed softly.

"You-you're _beautiful_," gasped Fletcher, awestruck. "Maker, you're beautiful…just _look_ at you." His fingers brushed along the elf's cheeks, his neck, and then moved to his hair. "Wow," Fletcher uttered, his voice trembling, "you-you're my beautiful lyrium prince. You're so...Maker…look at you…"

As tears of joy slipped down Fletcher's face, the appalled elf pulled away and drew his sword, pointing it at Fletcher. "Torbal! Thirin!" he shouted.

"No, don't do that," Fletcher murmured, again moving close to Fenris and pushing his sword aside. "Fen…let's make love. Right here. It'll be mind-blowing. You, me, and-and…this…" He waved his hand toward the cavern walls, and Fenris took a further step back, pressing his sword against Fletcher's chest.

"Fen? W-what are you doing?"

"Move _away _from the wall. You are not yourself."

"I've never felt _more_ like myself!" Fletcher protested, hurt in his voice. "What's the matter? Why are you _being_ like this?"

"_You _would never behave in this manner under normal circumstances," Fenris replied, breathing a sigh of relief as Torbal arrived at the entrance.

"Bloody hell!" exclaimed the dwarf. "What have you found here?"

"I am in need of your assistance," said Fenris, and Torbal, noticing that Fenris's sword was pointing at Fletcher, nodded in understanding.

"Hawke," he said in a deep, gruff voice. "You'd better come with me."

"No!" Fletcher snapped, angry at the intrusion. "You have no right to come in here and tell us what to do! You all had a good laugh this morning, didn't you? We're just a joke to you, aren't we? Well you need to understand that we're in love," he spun around and glared at the elf, "although _Fenris _would never admit that, would you? We're staying here, until I make Fenris see!"

Alarmed at the madness in Fletcher's eyes, Torbal slowly unsheathed his axe. "Let's not do this, Hawke," he said calmly as Fenris moved behind the mage. "Now, we're all gonna walk out of here, together, nice and easy."

"_We _are not going anywhere!" Fletcher raised his hands, and, just as they started to glow with flame, his breath was knocked out of him as Fenris and Torbal took him down, all three of them landing in an unceremonious heap.

"I'm sorry, Fletcher," Fenris grunted, twisting Fletcher's arms behind his back, his knee pinning the mage in place.

"Let-me-_go_!" Fletcher yelled as Thirin arrived, panting, at the entrance.

"What the fuck is going on here?" exclaimed the elderly dwarf.

"'Bout time you got here. Get some sodding rope!" Torbal ordered.

~o~O~o~

Fletcher awoke, sometime later, to find Anders crouching over him. He went to move, but his limbs failed him, and he slumped, as limp as a rag doll that had lost some of its stuffing.

"Can you see me?" Anders asked, snapping his fingers in front of Fletcher's eyes.

"Yes…what am I doing here? What-what's going on, Anders?" He looked up at the high ceiling of the chamber, but was unable to focus, and closed his eyes, feeling giddy.

"You found a lyrium vein," Anders told him with a wry smile. "When I told you to look for lyrium, Hawke, I didn't mean _raw_ lyrium!"

Fletcher's eyes slowly opened and his brow creased as hazy blue images meandered through his mind, and then he gasped as everything came crashing back, and he once again attempted to get up, but Anders pushed him back. "Fenris! Shit! _Shit_! Where is he? Maker! I-I…is he all right?"

"Fenris is…busy at the moment. He's fine, Hawke; worried about you, but he's okay. He told me that you'd been a bit emotional earlier today. Maybe you'd been sensing it on some level…it seems that Sprinkles did, as well. The dwarves have taken him down a few of the tunnels, and he's sniffed out some lyrium we _can_ use. Everything's going to be fine, Hawke. No harm done."

"What's Fenris doing? Is Torbal okay? I nearly…and how come you didn't sense it, Anders? Why weren't you affected by it? Have you drained my mana? Anders?"

"One question at a time!" Anders laughed. "Just calm down." He sat on the ground next to Fletcher and helped him to sit up, but Fletcher had to lean against him. "First of all, yes, I did drain your mana. I had to; you were all but frothing at the mouth. As to why I wasn't affected, well, it's a guess, but maybe Justice gives me a little protection from it. And Torbal said you cast like a girl."

"Huh." Fletcher managed a small laugh, and looked around, wondering where everyone had gone. "And…what's Fenris doing? Please tell me he's all right, Anders; Maker, the way I was behaving…"

"He's fine, honestly. Listen," Anders said seriously. "We didn't find any treasure in tunnel seven. We _did _find…Bartrand, however."

"What?" Fletcher spluttered.

"He and Angrim were together, both filthy and stumbling around in the dark; they said they hadn't eaten for two days and nights. I tell you, Hawke, Bartrand's lucky he made it back here alive; Varric and I went for him as soon as we set eyes on him. If it hadn't been for Sebastian's intervention…"

"The bastard!" Fletcher tried to scramble to his feet, but this time Anders didn't need to hold him back, as his legs gave way and he plopped onto his bottom with a thud.

"We don't know what happened yet," Anders told him. "He's _claiming _that Gaar collapsed both tunnels, trapping both groups. Angrim, on the other hand, is asserting that it was Bartrand's idea to collapse our tunnel, and that Gaar double-crossed Bartrand. They were both quite willing to betray each other once we waved some food under their noses, and we had to pull them apart. Poor Varric doesn't know _what_ to bloody think."

"And what do you think?" Fletcher asked him.

"Personally, I think Bartrand's lying through his teeth, but it's not up to me. We'll see what Fenris decides."

"Fenris? What do you mean? What does he have to do with it?"

Anders shook his head and laughed. "Fenris has gone into full guard mode; he told both of them that, as he wears the uniform of the Kirkwall Guard, he _is _the Kirkwall Guard down here. He's interrogating them both, and is _not _in the mood for any crap. He's pretty impressive, actually."

"I must be hallucinating or something," Fletcher drawled, blinking several times to clear his hazy vision. "I could swear you just called Fenris _impressive_."

"You probably did imagine it," Anders joked, settling Fletcher against the rock. "Now, you're going to get some sleep; you need to regenerate."

"No, Anders, I'm fine, really-"

"No arguments," insisted Anders, pushing up to his feet. "Besides, I want to see what's going on with Bartrand, and now you're awake, I'm not going to risk you wandering off into that tunnel again. I have Fenris's permission."

"Anders, don't…"

With a wave of Anders's hand, Fletcher's eyes fluttered closed and his head drooped on his shoulder.

"Yes, I know you're going to kill me when you wake up," Anders said with a smile, shaking his head as he left Fletcher to his sleep.


	60. Chapter 60

_Thank you, Mary, for de-stiltifying the chapter! And yes...I know exactly which word you were thinking of, you mucky pup :P_

_And my thanks also to all of you for reading, and for your inspirational reviews and PMs._

__~o~O~o~

"This is bloody outrageous!" Bartrand stormed as he was pushed into the main chamber, hands bound at the wrists. "We were coming to _warn _you about that bastard Gaar!" he claimed with his best approximation of a pleading glance at the dour-looking group.

With a yelp, he was propelled forward by a slipper-clad foot to his backside. "See if the others offer you sympathy," growled Fenris, his sword at the dwarf's back. "You do not have mine. _Sit._"

"Who do you think you are? Telling me to sit like a dog? Does he talk to _you_ like this?" he asked the rest of the expedition workers. "You gonna take this from a sodding _elf?_"

"Shut up and do what he says, you Stone-forsaken idiot!" Thirin called from where he and Sheldon were preparing supper. "You're damned lucky he hasn't sliced you up."

"Oh, yeah?" Bartrand asked with an arrogant tilt of his head. "This pretend guard can't kill me. He's been quoting me the _law _the whole time, so I guess he has to stick to it, don't he?"

"You are correct in your assumption that the law forbids me from dispensing capital punishment," Fenris said, moving closer to the dwarf. "I would have to explain such an action, and paperwork is not my strong suit. _Wounds_, however, can be explained far more easily."

"Wounds?" Bartrand asked, uncertainty creeping into his voice.

"Wounds," Fenris reiterated, pushing Bartrand's face to the side with the tip of his sword. "Permit me to demonstrate."

Bartrand batted the sword away and almost fell over as he stumbled back. "You can't wound me, you illiterate goon! See all these people? They're called _witnesses_!"

Fenris glanced at the group and a dark smile stretched his lips as every single worker turned their back on them. "I see no witnesses, Dwarf. Now, _sit down_. My patience is at an end."

"Bunch of bastards!" Bartrand barked at the group.

"I _said, _sit down!" Fenris snarled, lunging forward.

Bartrand finally lost his footing and fell onto his backside, unable to right himself due to his bound hands. At the same moment, Varric and Angrim emerged from a side-tunnel and walked past, with Angrim smirking at Bartrand and Varric decidedly ignoring him.

"Hey, why aren't _his _hands tied up?" Bartrand demanded furiously, quickly shutting up when Fenris leaned over him, still brandishing his sword.

"Because _his _story was more plausible than yours," explained the elf. "However, you will _both _face the magistrate upon our return, and he will decide your fate. Do _not _give me cause to bind you in a similar fashion," he warned Angrim.

"Don't worry, Elf; I'm no _criminal_," Angrim said, looking at Bartrand as he spoke.

Bartrand wriggled and attempted vainly to stand up. "You're fucking dead, you double-crossing son of a bitch!"

"Not if I get to you first, you lying bastard!" Angrim retorted.

"There will be _no _reprisals," Fenris dictated, pointing behind him. "You. Over there," he commanded Angrim. "And _you _will be silent," he said to Bartrand. "Or_ I_ will silence you_."_

"There's no law against talking-" Bartrand began.

"I _will_ have silence!" ordered Fenris, his sword biting into Bartrand's neck. Bartrand again defiantly pushed the sword away, but said no more, and glowered at Angrim instead.

"Varric." Fenris walked over to the dwarf and spoke quietly. "I realise that he is your brother. I would not want to-"

"Do what the hell you like with him," Varric muttered irascibly. "And if you need any help with those _wounds_, gimme a holler." He sighed. "You'd better go check on Hawke. Let _me _worry about Bartrand."

Fenris glanced over at Fletcher – who sat in a far corner of the chamber with Anders – and, catching a pair of fearful brown eyes looking back at him, he quickly turned back to Varric, his stomach roiling. "As you wish, but remember that you are not alone in your burden."

"Burden?" Varric slapped Fenris's arm unenthusiastically. "Oh, he's that all right, Broody. It's good to have you at my back, though. Now, go see Hawke. The guy's fretting his ass off over there."

Varric walked away – as far from Bartrand as he could get – and Fenris watched him, drawing a calming breath, with Fletcher and Anders in his peripheral vision. He turned and walked in their direction, and Anders stood up as he neared.

"He's had a sleep, but he's still low on mana," he warned the elf, but his tone was not hostile. As Fenris nodded at him, Anders whispered, "The lyrium's still affecting him; it's everywhere, even beneath our feet; we just can't see it. It's not his fault; he can't help it. He's a bit…fragile. He feels terrible about what happened."

"I understand," murmured Fenris quietly. Anders departed, and Fenris stood at Fletcher's feet; the mage sat against the rock wall, his legs stretched out.

"Nicely done, Guardsman," Fletcher said with a weak smile, nodding in Bartrand's direction. He then cautiously looked up at Fenris, before quickly lowering his eyes. "Will you…sit with me?"

Fenris nodded and slowly moved to Fletcher's side, where he sat upon the ground. Neither of them spoke for a short time.

"I must have really frightened you," uttered Fletcher, finally breaking the silence.

"I was…somewhat taken aback," admitted the elf.

"I wouldn't have hurt you, you know," Fletcher whispered.

"And yet you would have attacked Torbal," Fenris supplied in a reasonable tone.

"Yes." Fletcher sighed and drew his knees up to his chest. "The way I was thinking at the time – and I accept that the way I was thinking was completely abnormal – was that Torbal was trying to separate us, break us apart. I was trying to protect _us_. I know, I know…it sounds ridiculous," he said with a morose shrug, and he glanced at Fenris, whose expression was inscrutable. "You, in my mind, are in the category of someone who must never be hurt. You're _family_. I would _never _have…forced myself on you…Maker, even saying it…"

Fenris groaned softly, saddened, as tears welled up in Fletcher's eyes, but he did not touch the mage for fear of upsetting him further. Instead, he waited for Fletcher to compose himself.

"I'm not making any sense, am I?" Fletcher went on, his head bowed. "What I'm trying to say is, I'm desperately sorry I placed you in the position where you had to subjugate me. I'm _glad_ you did that. But if you hadn't, I wouldn't have…if you'd rejected me, I probably would have burst into tears or had a tantrum or something," he laughed bitterly. "I would never have hurt you, I swear. I just don't have it in me to…you know."

Fletcher hesitantly moved his hand to cover Fenris's, but didn't grip it. "I know you might not believe what I'm saying…"

"I believe you." Fenris curled his fingers around Fletcher's hand. "You were not acting of your own volition."

"I-I know, but the fact is, I am_ capable_ of acting like that. Anders has been down the main tunnel with the dwarves and he said it's lined with raw lyrium. This is only going to get worse. I think…I think it's best that I'm restrained from now on," he uttered quietly, resignation in his voice. "For everyone's sake."

"Restrained?"

Fletcher nodded. "So I can't cast. As for my behaviour…I don't know what will happen. I'm sorry, Fen. This probably hasn't improved your opinion of mages in general."

"Not all mages are equal," Fenris murmured, his grip on Fletcher's hand tightening. "That is something I have learned since we met." Fletcher's eyes moved up to his, a faint, hopeful smile on his face. "Besides," the elf continued, "I am also affected by the lyrium." He held up his free arm, and Fletcher could see an indistinct glow radiating from the elf's markings. "I cannot help that any more than you can help _your _reaction to it," he reassured the mage.

"Thank you for understanding, Fen," Fletcher said with a loving gaze at the elf. "But I have to insist that my hands be tied. I won't risk anything like that happening again. I may very well act like a complete prat, but at least I won't be able to hurt anyone."

Fenris examined Fletcher's hands, considering his proposal. "_Would _binding your hands prevent you from casting?" he asked.

"Yes." Fletcher placed his hands together, as though he was praying, and meshed his fingers together. "If my palms are covered, I can't cast."

"I have seen other mages casting without using their hands, or a stave," Fenris contended. "I have seen men driven to madness with a mere look from a mage."

"That's dark magic; blood magic and whatever else they use in the Imperium. I'm just not that powerful. You'll all be safe if my hands are tied. And in case you're wondering, I can't summon my demon if my hands are bound, either."

"I did not wonder that." Fenris squeezed Fletcher's hand. "I do not wish to see you reduced to…is there no other way?"

"_I _would feel better, Fen. Please, I'm asking you."

Fenris took a deep breath and then sighed. "Very well. I will ask the pirate to do it; she is versed in several types of knot, and bound Bartrand's hands. She will not hurt you."

"I-I want to apologise to Torbal, first," Fletcher insisted, "while I can still shake his hand…if he'll shake mine, that is."

They looked over to where the rotund dwarf was holding court with some of the human workers, and his deep laugh echoed throughout the chamber.

"He appears to be quite unscathed," observed Fenris. "I am certain he will shake your hand."

Fletcher started to push himself up, but was stopped by Fenris's hand on his chest. "There is…something else," said the elf.

"Oh?" Fletcher asked nervously, sitting back down.

Fenris sighed again and didn't speak for a few moments. When he did, his voice was soft and quiet. "You…do not believe that I care for you?"

"No, I-I don't know why I said that," Fletcher answered hastily. "And I'm sorry I said it in front of Torbal. I wasn't in my right mind. I didn't mean it."

"But somewhere in your mind, you must have doubts," Fenris reasoned, a crease forming between his brows. "You would not have said it otherwise."

"No, I was just being stupid," Fletcher replied, feeling guilty that a small part of him still hoped Fenris would say those three little words.

"You must understand," Fenris began, "that I have never…shared myself with anyone before, not in the way I have shared myself with you. These…feelings are completely new to me, and I do not have anything with which to compare them. I do not _know _what it is that I feel. I would not dishonour you – or us –by speaking without conviction. Words are easily spoken, but if the meaning is not there, then they are empty. Do you understand?"

"I…I think so," Fletcher said, nodding slowly, his heart sinking.

Fenris once again took Fletcher's hand. "Consider this: when we first met, I was embittered, angry, and incapable of feeling anything other than hatred. I was barely a person at all due to my experiences with blood mages. _You _are a blood mage – albeit, I accept, a non-practising one – and yet I have shared my story with you, even the darkest episodes. I have given my affection to you, and I have given my body to you. Allow me time, and I will give my heart to you. And when I do, it will be freely, without conditions or caveats. Perhaps I already have…but I do not _know_ for certain. I am damaged; but, with your help, I am healing. All I ask for is time, dear Fletcher."

Fletcher squeezed his eyes closed and nodded as a tear coursed down his cheek. Wiping it away, he released his breath in a shaky burst and nodded again. "S-sorry…it's the blasted lyrium." He wiped both of his eyes on his sleeve, sniffled and looked at the elf, who wore a fond smile. "I understand, Fen," he murmured. "Finally, I understand. Thank you."

Fenris, still smiling, held the mage's gaze for a moment before pushing himself up, and offering his hand to Fletcher. "Are you able to stand?"

"Let's find out." Fletcher took the elf's proffered hand, and, with much effort from Fenris, he stood on wobbly legs. Fenris led him to Torbal, who laughed off Fletcher's apology. They then sought out Isabela, whose eyes naturally lit up when asked to tie Fletcher up.

"I _knew _you'd come round," she teased, reaching for a length of rope from her pack. With a stern look from Fenris, however, she relented with a sigh. "Are you certain you want to do this, Hawke?" she asked.

"It's for everyone's safety," he answered, still feeling ashamed. "I don't know how I'm going to be when we head through that tunnel." He pressed his palms together and held his hands out to Isabela, who considered the type of knot to use.

"Allow him flexibility and comfort, but do not allow his palms to separate," instructed Fenris.

The pirate nodded. "I know just the thing. And I'll be much gentler with you than I was with that arse of a dwarf," she said with a nod to Bartrand, whose ears pricked up.

"Ha! Binding the mage now, are we?" he mocked, craning his head for a better look. "How the mighty have fallen!"

"_Excuse _me," Fenris rasped, his nose wrinkling.

Before Fenris could reach the dwarf, however, Vonim – who had been glaring daggers at Bartrand the whole time – stomped over and kicked him hard on the chest, sending him onto his back. "I'm getting real sick of hearing your stinkin' voice, Bartrand!" he raged. "Now, shut the hell up!"

Bartrand flailed on his back, eventually gaining purchase on an elbow and pushing himself onto his bottom. "Hey, _guard_!" he yelled at the approaching Fenris, "you can't allow this kind of treatment! I ain't been convicted of nothin', yet! What are you gonna _do_ about this?"

"Have you not heard, Dwarf?" retorted Fenris. "I am no guard, but merely a _pretend _one. I have no power over the actions of these people."

"Yet you think you have power over _me_?" barked Bartrand, holding up his tied hands, not noticing a stocky figure to his side, who was winding a leather strap around his knuckles.

"You're _special_," sneered Fenris.

"And where's that no-good brother of mine?" Bartrand demanded. "I don't see _him _defending House Tethras! There's no family honour anymore, I tell you! Where is he?"

"Right here, _Brother_."

The last thing Bartrand saw was the leather-clad fist as it slammed into his nose. Pain stabbed at his eyes, and the sound of applause and cheering lulled him into unconsciousness.

"You're welcome," Varric said to his friends, flexing his hand and unwinding the leather cord.

"Varric," Isabela called over through the hubbub. "To lift Hawke's spirits, I've decided to treat him to a reading of my story. Care to join us? It should be good for a laugh, if nothing else."

"This oughta be good," replied the dwarf, his own tensions easing a little as the noise died down.

"Thank you for the peace and quiet," Fenris said as Varric walked away from his recumbent brother.

"Anytime, Broody." Varric bowed, and Fenris caught a cheeky glint in the dwarf's eye when he straightened.

Anders moved to Fenris's side and they both watched Varric walk over to Isabela and Fletcher, whose hands were now securely bound.

"I'm going to need your help, Fenris," Anders said quietly.

"You shall have it," answered Fenris with a small nod. "We must both be strong for him."

"I didn't want to say anything to Hawke, but I think the darkspawn have begun to sense my presence," Anders whispered. Fenris jerked his head, indicating that they move away from the others, and Anders followed without hesitation. "They've picked up their pace and are heading right for us," Anders continued, taking out his maps. "Remember this portion of the map that we arg-_talked _about? The 'uncharted' section?"

"I remember."

"Well, it looks like we're going to run into them there," whispered Anders. "Maker knows what else we're going to find there as it is."

"Could we not stay back? Ambush them?" suggested the elf.

"We _could_, but there are drawbacks to that plan," Anders answered. "First, the food situation is bad enough as it is _without _the addition of Angrim and Bartrand; we need to press on as quickly as possible. Second, I wouldn't fancy engaging the darkspawn in as small a chamber as this. They might have mages as well, and any encounter could quickly turn into a slaughter, not necessarilyin our favour."

"How long do we have?" Fenris asked, staring grimly ahead at the tunnel they would be heading down.

"If we make an early start tomorrow, we'll arrive at the uncharted section before they do, but only just. _I'd _prefer to reach the larger chamber up ahead before we bed down for the night, as _well _as making an early start, but it might not go down well with the others; they're preparing for supper."

"Then supper will have to be delayed. Our lives are at stake." Fenris stepped away from Anders and addressed the group, speaking clearly. "Gather your belongings," he instructed them. "We will make camp at the larger site ahead."

"But they're just about to serve supper!" moaned Marston, one of the human workers.

"And what about my story?" Isabela complained.

"Eat quickly, then," replied Fenris evenly. "Weare departing soon. We will wait for no one."

"Okay, you heard the elf!" Torbal shouted. "Everybody chow down and get ready! Double quick!"

Amid much grumbling, the expedition workers rushed to the huge pot of stew, plates at the ready. Varric and Isabela joined them, but Fletcher, hands bound in front of him, wandered over to Fenris and Anders.

"What's the rush?" he asked them.

"We thought we'd get that lyrium-lined tunnel out of the way, particularly as you're now tied up," Anders lied smoothly, and Fenris's head slowly turned toward him.

"Don't go to any trouble on my account," Fletcher said, his tone guarded as he noticed Fenris's reaction.

"It's no trouble," answered Anders. "Go and get your supper."

"I'm…not that hungry," Fletcher mumbled, his eyes narrowing ever-so-slightly. "I'll go and pack. I'll need some help."

"I will be along shortly," Fenris assured him with a forced smile.

"Right." With a suspicious glance at the pair, Fletcher turned and headed over to his pack.

"Are you comfortable with hiding the truth from him?" Fenris demanded of Anders once Fletcher was out of earshot, "because I am _not_."

"I'm perfectly comfortable with it. Telling him about the darkspawn at the moment would do more harm than good."

"He is not _stupid_," Fenris hissed. "He _knows_ that your explanation is fallacious. Did you not see the look in his eyes?"

"Look," Anders said irritably, "I know what he's going to face in that tunnel; I spent a lot of time in the Deep Roads as a warden, and I didn't have Justice's protection back then. Why do you think I didn't want to come back down here? It's not just the darkspawn; the Deep Roads is a very dangerous place for a mage. Raw lyrium can be _lethal _to mages; did you know that? But death may be preferable to the insanity that continued exposure can also cause."

Fenris's eyes widened, and he stared, horrified, at Anders. "Are you saying-"

"We need to get out of here as soon as possible," Anders interrupted. "He'll be a wreck when we go through that tunnel. I _don't_ think he needs to know about the darkspawn, and have the memories of his brother come back to him, at the same time. Do you?"

Fenris exhaled through his nose, his mouth set in a hard line. "Your argument is logical," he conceded with reluctance, "but I will _not _lie to him."

"Then don't. If he asks you anything, send him to me. I'm supposed to be the authority on the Deep Roads, aren't I? Just keep your mouth shut, Fenris; that's all you need to do. He's going to need both of us when we go through that tunnel, and it would be better if we're not at each other's throats. Now, you'd better give him a hand before he becomes _more _suspicious_."_

Fenris looked across at Fletcher, who was watching them intently, before the mage averted his gaze. With a heavy heart, Fenris quickly walked over to Fletcher, where he began packing away their belongings.

~o~O~o~

Torches were not required during the journey through the mile-long tunnel; enough light was provided by the lyrium that was marbled throughout the tunnel walls, but some still chose to carry torches, preferring the wholesome, familiar and _ordinary_ light cast by the orange flame to the unnatural, spectral luminescence that seemed to float away from the walls and insinuate itself into the top layer of the skin.

No one – mage or not – was completely at ease in the tunnel. Occasionally, a worker would turn around, frown and then shake their head, feeling foolish; others scratched at their neck or ears, plagued by imagined touches or half-heard whispers. Anders and Fenris seemed to fare better, as did the dwarves, and the mage and elf flanked Fletcher, with Torbal behind and Vonim ahead. Both dwarves had their axes drawn, at Fletcher's insistence. He'd also instructed each and every worker – with the exception of Bartrand - that they must not hesitate to disable him if he exhibited erratic behaviour.

Conversation was minimal, but Fletcher was unnaturally silent during the journey. Anders had attempted to make conversation with him, but Fletcher had merely looked at him blankly, giving no reply. Most of his attention was on Fenris, whose markings glowed as brightly as the blue veins along the walls; Fletcher hardly took his eyes off the elf, who felt faintly uncomfortable under the mage's intense scrutiny, but consoled himself that at least Fletcher was quiet, and not distressed.

A short break was taken for Thirin's sake, who, despite wearing his oxygen mask, grew short of breath three-quarters of the way through the tunnel. During this time, Fenris and Anders looked over the maps again, and they had another quiet conversation that Fletcher couldn't hear, although his eyes never left them.

When they returned to Fletcher's side, Fenris touched his arm in a show of reassurance, but Fletcher shrugged off the elf's hand and walked ahead, quickly followed by the dwarves.

"It's getting to him," Anders informed the elf. "Don't take it personally."

Fenris nodded, but his heart palpitated; he couldn't help feeling hurt, and apprehensive, despite Anders's reassurances.

Anders was similarly snubbed by Fletcher, and so Thirin and Varric moved to Fletcher's side, with Bartrand ahead of Vonim, where the warrior dwarf could keep an eye on him. Any smart comments from Bartrand were quickly met with a swift kick or a cuff about the head, and Bartrand eventually kept his thoughts to himself.

Anders and Fenris led the group, and Fenris turned around intermittently to check on Fletcher, only to receive a hostile glare in return. As they neared the end of the tunnel, Fenris stopped turning around.

"As soon as we get out of this tunnel, he'll be all right," said Anders, sensing Fenris's discomfort. "He's not Hawke at the moment. Whatever you see, remember it's not him."

"You sound as though you speak from experience," the elf replied, hoping to displace his anxiety with a conversation.

"I do. When we were in Kal'Hirol, we came across masses of raw lyrium, all in one chamber. In a very short time, I became convinced that the wardens had brought me there – almost three weeks' travel from the Keep – to kill me. Never mind the fact that they could easily have killed me at the Keep. No, I was completely convinced, and I wouldn't sleep or eat anything for fear that they'd poison me. Eventually, Nathaniel – the clever one out of us - saw that something was badly wrong and he stuffed a hankie in my mouth which was coated in something that knocked me out. When I woke up, I'd been carried away from the chamber and I was back to myself. I couldn't believe it, the way my mind had worked. It seemed so real to me."

"The lyrium made you paranoid," guessed Fenris, and Anders nodded. "Do you think Fletcher also believes that we mean to kill him?"

"It's possible. Who knows? He's obviously not happy with us for some reason. I heard that raw lyrium can amplify a mage's neuroses or insecurities. How was he when you were packing?"

"He did his best to conceal it, but I am certain he did not believe your story. Perhaps…perhaps he believes we are conspiring against him?"

Anders looked at Fenris seriously. "I hate to say it, but you could be dead right, there. Let's get a move on; the sooner we're out of this tunnel, the better. I'd guess we only have a few hundred metres to go."

"We are almost clear of the tunnel," Fenris called behind him. "Let us make haste. Thirin? Are you well?"

"We'll take our time, Fenris," Sebastian – who was supporting the elderly dwarf – called back. "Go ahead; we're fine," he added, understanding Fenris's need for expediency.

"Thank you, Sebastian." Fenris nodded ahead, and he and Anders moved quickly to reach the tunnel's end.

When the others caught up to them, however, they found the twosome standing at the entrance to the large chamber, with Anders shaking his head, cursing, and Fenris glowering at the scene before him.

"What? What is it?" Vonim demanded as Bartrand burst out laughing.

"Just look at _that_," Anders mumbled disconsolately.

The walls of the chamber ahead fairly shimmered with wide streaks of lyrium, the thickness of tree trunks, and the ceiling was studded with huge lyrium crystals, some larger than Thirin's cook pot.

"Bollocks!" Anders exclaimed, kicking a loose piece of rock across the chamber.

"I guess Creampuff's about to go doolally then, huh?" Bartrand cackled, his next remark dying on his lips as he was slammed, hard, against the wall.

"You are _this _close to death, caitiff!" Fenris snarled, his blade held horizontally across Bartrand's throat. "I no longer care for procedures or laws! I could gut you and leave you here, still alive, to slowly bleed to death! Who would know?"

"Or _care_," added Vonim, to several murmurs of agreement.

Bartrand's eyes flitted around, and, seeing that no one – not even Varric - had leapt to his defence, he gulped, Fenris's sword scraping his adam's apple as it bobbed.

"What will it be, _wretch_?" demanded Fenris, his eyes aflame with murderous rage.

"Just-just take it easy, okay?" Bartrand laughed nervously, finally realising that he'd pushed the elf too far. "I'm sorry, all right? Just lay off me and I-I'll lay off him. Just…put it down."

"Ask me _nicely_," Fenris hissed.

"P-please," stammered Bartrand, genuine fear in his eyes and voice.

Seeing Varric from the corner of his eye, Fenris relaxed his grip on his sword, and Bartrand exhaled in relief. Then, without warning, Fenris again shoved his sword against Bartrand's throat, and the dwarf gagged. "One more time, Dwarf. Just _one more time._"

Fenris released the dwarf and quickly turned away, heading into the chamber with Anders, while Bartrand rubbed the bloody welt on his throat left by Fenris's sword.

"You fucking coward," Varric berated, spitting at Bartrand's feet as he passed by. "You make me sick."

Fenris and Anders stood together, talking, as Fletcher was led into the chamber by Torbal and Vonim. "He can't stay here," Anders asserted, receiving no argument from Fenris, who nodded gravely. "This lyrium is slowly poisoning him; me, as well. I may have Justice's protection, but I don't know how far that goes. I'm more concerned about Hawke at the moment, though."

"I agree, but we cannot just keep going," said Fenris. "The others are starting to tire. Thirin needs his rest; he is not as young as the rest of us."

"We're about three miles away from the uncharted section of the map," Anders said, pointing in the direction they needed to go. "I recommend that we quickly scout those few tunnels, and, when we find a safe one, you and I take Hawke ahead in the hope we find somewhere with less lyrium. What do you think? The darkspawn won't be upon us until tomorrow; we could reconnoitre the area, come up with some strategies?"

"That makes sense," answered Fenris thoughtfully. "But…what if there is _more_ lyrium? What then?"

"We don't have much choice, do we?" Anders replied with a weary shrug. "We have to try, and we can't go back; we'll only end up here again eventually."

"I will speak to Fletcher first, and ask his opinion," said Fenris.

"I doubt he'll agree."

"I…want him to feel involved," Fenris uttered quietly. Anders nodded and turned, walking to one of the tunnels leading in the direction of the uncharted section.

When Fenris reached Fletcher, Vonim and Torbal stepped aside, allowing them some privacy.

"Fletcher?" he asked gently.

The mage started and stared at Fenris, wide-eyed, and took a step back when Fenris neared. "Fletcher…Anders and I are going to take you away from here. Come with us. You will feel better."

"Anders and I? _Us_?" Fletcher spluttered, and Fenris noticed that his pupils were once again dilated. "Why are you _asking _me? You and Anders seem to be getting along just fine! Why don't you just go with _him_?"

"Fletcher…please, do not-"

"Do you take me for an_ idiot_?" Fletcher whispered harshly. "Do you think I can't see what's going on right under my nose? You're determined to make a fool of me, aren't you? I bet the two of you are having a right laugh about me, aren't you? Well, you're _welcome _to each other!"

"Fletcher!" Fenris exclaimed, his voice breaking as the mage turned his back on him. Torbal and Vonim, having heard the conversation, nodded at each other and approached Fenris.

"Let's get him out of here, and quick," Torbal advised the distraught elf. "You make arrangements with Anders; we'll bring Hawke, kicking and screaming, if need be."

Fenris glanced over at Fletcher, whose eyes were darting back and forth as he gawked up at the ceiling. "Thank you," Fenris rasped with a small bow to the dwarves. "Thank you, sincerely."

Slowly, he walked over to Anders, who saw the sadness in Fenris's posture and eyes immediately.

"Let's get ready to go, then," he said to the elf.

"Yes," Fenris answered in a whisper. "Immediately."


	61. Chapter 61

_Mary, you have my eternal gratitude for your hand-holding and never-ending support._

_852654932429, you've disabled your PMs, so I was unable to thank you for your review, so I'll do it here: thank you! :D_

~o~O~o~

The dwarves were watching him again, axes drawn, voices gruff. What did they want with him? Where were they taking him? And just who had tied his hands? What business of theirs was it if-

"Get back, Hawke," warned Torbal with a shove. "You're getting a little too close to that wall for my liking."

Why were they trying to keep him away? Weren't they supposed to be his friends? Weren't friends supposed to be supportive, make each other happy?

"I told you to get back, Hawke!" Painful fingers dug into his arm and he was roughly manoeuvred away from the wall again. He struggled, but without the use of his hands he was powerless against the sturdy dwarves.

_Just keep on. Wait until my hands are untied. These so-called friends will be gone and finally we'll be alone._

His eyes wandered to the blue effulgence that snaked outward from the walls, tiny fingers of radiant resplendence that gently welcomed him, caressed him, and loved him. Then, his eyes found Fenris. It wasn't _his_ fault. Fletcher shouldn't have blamed Fenris for what was happening. Fletcher loved Fenris; he _was_ made of lyrium, after all.

It was all Anders.

Anders _knew _how Fletcher felt about the lyrium elf, and had tied his fellow mage up and placed him under guard. He was taking Fletcher where no one would ever find him again because he wanted the lyrium elf all for himself.

"Over my dead body," Fletcher growled.

Fenris and Anders, who were walking ahead, stopped dead and turned to face him. The dwarves' fingers dug deeper into his arms.

"Hawke? Are you all right?" asked Anders, walking over to him.

"Just untie my hands and you'll find out, _thief_," threatened Fletcher with a maleficent smile.

"Thief. Okay, then…" Anders sighed and glanced at Fenris, who moved to his side, his face drawn with unease.

"Don't worry, Fen," Fletcher whispered, awe and veneration in his eyes. "I won't let him do it. We'll be together, I promise; all three of us. Just be ready for my signal."

Fenris's face tightened further, and he started to look at Anders, but thought better of it; doing that would only fuel Fletcher's paranoia. "Three of us?" he asked quietly.

"You, him and the _lyrium_," Anders clarified, shaking his head. "Well, at least he's no longer pissed off with _you_."

"You're _not_ having them," Fletcher told Anders with a cold glare. "You'll have to kill me first. But that's the plan, isn't it? You think I can't see? Oh, yes; I'm onto to you," he said with certainty. "You're not as clever as you think, are you?"

Anders groaned and turned away. "Bloody hell. Now I know what Nate had to put up with." He glanced at his maps and turned back to the others. "We're about a mile away from the uncharted section. Does anyone need a rest?"

"We can rest when we're clear of this sodding lyrium," Vonim grunted with a shudder. "Stuff's startin' to make me itch."

"Fenris?" asked Anders.

"I need no rest," answered the elf, stifling a yawn as he spoke; their journey had taken them into the early hours of the morning. Soon, the rest of the group, who had stayed behind, would be rising. "Fletcher? How are you faring?"

"I've never felt better, love," Fletcher assured him, before his eyes moved to Anders. "It won't be long, now. Just wait and see."

Ignoring Fletcher's deluded threat, Anders tucked his maps away in his pocket. "Well, let's see what the wardens _didn't_ put on the map. The way our luck's going, it'll be a bottomless pit of raw lyrium."

~o~O~o~

Bethany frowned as she read the letter for the ninth time, or maybe it was the tenth. It had been delivered the day before by a templar she'd never seen; she'd been watching the templars that had recently been posted to the slums, and was familiar with them all by now. It had been five days since she'd left the house.

"I wish I could work this out," she said to Leandra, who was buttering toast for breakfast. "It's very carefully worded, isn't it?"

"It doesn't seem to make much sense as it is," answered Leandra, "and it isn't addressed to anyone in particular, but the templar said it was for Fletcher and Anders. Perhaps they'll understand it?" She passed a plate of toast to Bethany and looked at her thoughtfully. "Something that templar said make me think. He said I should give the letter to Fletcher _before _he returns home, if possible."

"And how are you supposed to do that?" asked Bethany.

Leandra shook her head and frowned. "I don't know, dear. Read it again, will you?"

"_Due to a change in circumstances, any previous arrangement between us is hereby rescinded. You are advised to exercise due caution and not to draw unnecessary attention to yourselves. I trust that I can count on your discretion in this matter, as you can count on mine. KCC."_

"What possible arrangement would either of them have with a templar?" Bethany pondered aloud. "I mean, Fletcher, _maybe_, but Anders?"

"Whatever it is, dear, I think you would also do well to follow the advice, as you are also an apostate. I know you wanted to come to the market with me this morning, but the templars are still outside. Perhaps they're clamping down."

"I can't stay inside forever, Mother!" moaned Bethany.

"I'll stay with you, Beth-" Leandra began.

"No, Mother! You were to meet Quentin today, weren't you?"

Leandra shook her head and sat down next to her daughter. "He wasn't at the market yesterday. I suspect he's keeping a low profile, just as you are. I know it's frustrating, darling, but it's better than the alternative. And just think how fortunate we are compared with some…oh, that poor woman; the one who was found at the docks?"

Bethany shuddered, shaking her head. "_Why _would someone cut her hands off? What kind of a world are we living in? Her poor husband and children. I can't even imagine what they're going through. You're right, Mother; we have a lot to be grateful for."

Leandra smiled and patted Bethany's hand. "Now, come on; help me feed the chickens and get a bit of sun on your face. There are no templars in the back yard."

The two ladies rose, leaving their toast untouched. "I always think of Fenris when I see those chickens," Bethany mused wryly. "I wonder if Fletcher has got him to cluck, yet?"

"I doubt that very much, dear," laughed Leandra. "But I'm certain they're having a lot of fun on their big adventure."

~o~O~o~

Anders's bitter laugh echoed far and wide, bouncing off a distant wall and returning to mock them all. "Well, now we know why the wardens didn't map this section. There's nothing _to_ map!"

All five men stood at the lip of a giant chasm and stared ahead into the impenetrable blackness. The only reason they hadn't walked over the edge was that the dwarves had detected a change in the air, and called a halt; they'd stopped mere feet from the edge.

"Look on the bright side," offered Torbal with a glance at the luminescent blue tunnel behind them. "This is where the lyrium ends."

Fenris walked over to Fletcher, who was about to drop from exhaustion and, for the last part of their journey, had been babbling or laughing to himself. "Sit, Fletcher," he said softly, pushing the mage's shoulders down. Fletcher sat on the ground without resistance and Fenris crouched down next to him, stroking his arm. "I am going to find a way out of here. I did not escape my master's clutches and meet the man who has completely changed my life, only to die in a bloody _cave_."

Fletcher slowly looked up, his eyes dull and heavy-lidded, and started to snicker like a naughty child. "_You _said bloody."

"I did, didn't I?" replied Fenris with a genuine smile, hugely relieved that Fletcher was not being hostile towards him. "I think I have spent too much time with the dwarves. Rest easy. I will return shortly."

Leaving Fletcher to giggle inanely to himself, Fenris walked back to the edge of the chasm and lay on his belly, looking into the gloom. Reaching for a pebble, he instructed the others to be quiet and dropped it.

After a few seconds, a quiet splash was heard. "_Not_ a bottomless pit," Fenris said to Anders. "How much rope do we have?"

Each dwarf produced a large coil of rope, which were joined with a secure knot. After some discussion, it was decided that Fenris, as the lightest, would be lowered down to investigate the bottom of the chasm. One end of the rope was secured around his waist, and the other end around Torbal, who, together with Vonim, would serve as an anchor.

"Keep him distracted," Fenris instructed Anders with a nod at Fletcher, who was picking at his nails, still chuckling to himself.

"I doubt he even knows what you're doing," Anders answered. "We might be clear of the tunnel, but the lyrium's still having an effect on him. Whether that's due to our proximity to the tunnel, or…well, let's not speculate."

Refusing to entertain the possibility that Fletcher had been permanently affected, Fenris told Torbal to lower him into the chasm. The main priority was to get them out of there; _then _he would worry about Fletcher.

Anders summoned a large wisp to accompany Fenris, which caused the elf's markings to jump but provided welcome light. Slowly, Torbal and Vonim let the rope slip through their hands, lowering Fenris over the edge, watching him carefully at all times.

After a minute or two, Fenris called up for them to stop. "My feet are touching the water. Lower me slowly; I do not know how deep it is."

Torbal duly obliged and Anders, who was kneeling by the edge, called down to him. "Can you swim, Fenris?" No answer came from the elf and Anders glanced at Fletcher, who had apparently fallen asleep, and then at the dwarves.

"What?" Torbal exclaimed. "The rope's gone slack! Hey, Fenris!"

"Fenris!" Anders yelled.

"Are you talking to me?" Fenris called up.

"Fuck!" Anders groaned in relief. "Who else would we be bloody talking to?"

"I can barely hear you!" Fenris shouted. "The rush of the water is too loud. I will tell you what I can see: the water is shallow enough to wade through, although there is a large trench ahead of me; I will see if I can edge around it. Anders, is it possible to send your sphere of light further ahead?"

"Just tell it what to do!" Anders loudly instructed.

"Are…you telling me it is intelligent?" Fenris demanded. "What happens when you dispel it? Does it expire?"

"No! It's part of my will; when I dispel it, it's absorbed back into me," answered Anders, rolling his eyes in annoyance. "Can we not have this discussion now, Fenris? Just tell it what to do and then tell us what you see!"

A brief silence followed, but Anders sensed that his wisp was on the move.

"There is something up ahead," Fenris shouted up, and the three men on the ledge – the three who were paying attention, anyway - tensed. "A small tunnel," the elf went on. "I am wading towards it. Anders…I am sorry; it appears to be lined with lyrium."

"It just gets better and better, doesn't it?" griped Anders with another glance at Fletcher.

"I am inside the tunnel, which leads upwards," Fenris related, his voice barely audible. "If you are speaking to me, I can no longer hear you. I will keep talking, however."

That was the last time they heard Fenris speak for some time, but Anders knew that the wisp was still moving, slowly going upwards.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was in fact only a few minutes, a tiny light appeared across the chasm, slowly becoming larger and brighter as it drew closer. Finally, the dimly-illuminated face of Fenris appeared behind it; he almost appeared to be floating in thin air.

"Can you hear me?" the elf called faintly.

"Yeah! We hear you, Fenris!" shouted Torbal. "What have you found there?"

"Another ledge," answered Fenris. "Behind this, our path continues. Tell Anders that this will give us an advantage over the darkspawn when they arrive. There is more lyrium here, as well, but it does not seem to be affecting me, and it casts no light. I am at a loss; it _is _lyrium, as far as I can tell."

"Well, tell him yourself," Torbal began, turning towards where Anders had been standing. "Hey…where is he?"

"Anders?" Vonim shouted, and both dwarves looked around, seeing only Fletcher, who was now awake but still not completely lucid. "Anders?" he called again, moving over to the tunnel and walking a short distance inside. "_Anders_! Where the hell are you?"

"Wait there; I will return," Fenris instructed them. "Do not leave Fletcher alone."

Fenris and the wisp disappeared from view, and Torbal once again secured the rope around his waist as Vonim continued to call out for Anders. Fenris was quickly pulled back up, and he and Torbal untied themselves.

"Has he answered your calls?" Fenris asked the dwarves, both of whom shook their heads. "Fletcher? Did you see where Anders went?"

"Well, he fell over the edge or he went down the tunnel, silly; where else could he go?"

Remembering Fletcher's threats against Anders, Fenris was gripped by dread for a second, but he dismissed that thought with a shake of his head. "Fletcher…did you _see _where he went?" he repeated in a firmer voice.

"Who, little old me? Well, that would be telling, wouldn't it?" Fletcher replied with a grin, oblivious to Fenris's growing irritation.

"He can't have gone over the edge, Fenris," said Torbal. "We were concentrating on you, but we would have heard something, at least."

Fenris cocked his head and examined Anders's wisp, which still hovered nearby, awaiting his next command. "Orb," said Fenris, "are you able to take us to Anders?"

Slowly, the wisp drifted into the lyrium tunnel and took a right turn down one of the many branches leading off it.

"Will one of you stay with him?" Fenris asked the dwarves, and Torbal volunteered, sitting on the ground next to Fletcher.

"We had better be prepared," warned Fenris, drawing his sword, and Vonim followed him, axe at the ready.

The wisp picked up speed the further it went, and Fenris made a mental note of the direction they were taking; the last thing he needed to happen was for them to become lost, particularly as Anders had the maps. Shortly, the wisp slowed and led them around a bend. Anders stood a short distance away with his back to them, his hands fisted at his sides.

"Anders," the elf said harshly. "What are you doing? You are needed. Fletcher is still affected by the lyrium and we need to formulate strategies for dealing with the darkspawn. Whatever you are doing, stop now and come back with us."

When Anders failed to answer, the elf and the dwarf exchanged a concerned glance, and Fenris took a few cautious steps closer, halting when his markings screamed in pain; the sensation was similar to the one he'd experienced when the mages had entered the Fade during their pursuit of Hadriana.

He turned to look back at Vonim and whispered, "Lower your weapon, Dwarf. Whatever you see, do not threaten Anders; you will be quite safe. I give you my word."

Puzzled by Fenris's words but recognising the assurance in them, Vonim placed his axe upon the ground, and Fenris slid his sword between the straps on the back of his cuirass. Fenris moved in front of Anders, whose eyes were closed, and felt the pain in his markings intensify.

"Spirit," he barked. "I have just addressed you. Have the courtesy to answer."

Anders's eyes slowly opened, azure light to match the lyrium-streaked walls streaming from them. "Begone, Elf. I have no quarrel with you," uttered Justice.

"I have none with you either, Spirit, but I must ask that you relinquish control of Anders. He is needed."

Anders's eyes closed, and a deep, contented sigh came from him. "Do you not hear it, Elf?" Justice murmured, eyes slowly opening, and Fenris was taken aback by the tenderness in the spirit's voice. "I have sought…_this_…for many long years. I suspected from the moment we ventured underground, but I was not certain, and I strained to hear it; I had not thought it possible on the mortal plane…but there it is. I bid you join me, and listen."

Fenris listened but could hear nothing save Vonim's gruff sigh.

"I hear its song," Justice said in an awed whisper as he looked up at crystal-studded ceiling, and Fenris was reminded of the chamber where he and Fletcher had become lovers. "Such remarkable beauty must be acknowledged," continued the spirit, his eyes moving to the markings on Fenris's arms. "You perceive it, Elf; it sings to you, as well, but you do not hear it. Men have wept over lesser tragedies."

Astonished – and, to his surprise, touched - Fenris was speechless for a few moments but then remembered the stricken Fletcher and the approaching darkspawn. "You must listen to _me_, Spirit," he said softly but firmly, his voice trembling slightly as he fought to overcome the pain. "Anders's body, and his cognitive abilities, are vulnerable to the effects of the lyrium; you _must _know this. He has already been exposed to more than he should; you only have to see how it has affected Hawke. I understand how important the song is to you, but the cost to Anders must also be considered. For is it not unjust that he be injured, when he has injured no one?"

"Your argument is impeccable, brave elf," Justice replied with a nod. "I have failed Anders with my weakness, and can no longer protect him. I _had_ to hear it, just once." He raised his head and took one final look at the ceiling of the chamber. "It was almost worth it, but I will inflict no further harm upon Anders – or pain upon you. Forgive me."

The veins under Anders's skin briefly crackled with a flare of blue light, before it waned and Anders blinked several times, holding his hands out in front of him as he swayed.

"Anders-" Fenris caught him and waited until the mage had steadied himself before releasing him. Taking a step back, Fenris was dismayed at the expression on Anders's face: he'd seen it in Fletcher not so long ago.

"Fenris?" Anders asked in the same awestruck tone, and he reached out for the elf, his eyes wide, pupils dilated.

"Crap!" Vonim spat as Fenris backed away from Anders, and the dwarf charged forward, grabbing Anders firmly by the arm. "Go on ahead, Elf, if you know the way; we'll be right behind you."

"I will _find_ the way, somehow," promised the appalled elf as he took off down the tunnel, and Vonim followed with Anders straining against his iron grip.

When they emerged from the tunnel – and to Fenris's eternal relief – Anders stopped trying to grab him, but he gawked at the elf, silent and slack-jawed, as Fenris's markings still glowed dully.

"Now _both_ mages are affected," Fenris groused to the dwarves. "We will need them when we engage the darkspawn. They _must_ be taken away from the tunnel. Will you assist me?"

The dwarves readily agreed, and the three of them came up with a plan. Fires were lit – without magic – so that when the remainder of the group arrived in a few hours' time, they would be able to see the chasm before approaching its edge. Torbal and Vonim would remain next to the tunnel, and hopefully Fletcher and Anders would agree to accompany Fenris to the other side of the chasm, away from the lyrium.

"Fletcher?" asked Fenris as the dwarves helped the mage to his feet. "We are going to have…an adventure. Would you like that?"

"I'd go _anywhere _with you, Fen," gushed the mage with a sidelong glance at Anders, who responded with a scowl.

"There is no need to fight over me," Fenris told both of them through a weary sigh, not quite believing what he was saying. "Anders, you will also join us."

"But, Fen," Fletcher moaned.

"_No_ arguing," Fenris said sternly to both of them, drawing on his experience with the child slaves in Minrathous. "I have decided. If there is any moaning, _neither _of you will go."

The mages glumly mumbled their assent and joined Fenris and the dwarves near the chasm's edge. "Fletcher, I am going to remove your bonds," said the elf, drawing his sword, "as I no longer believe that you pose any danger to us. _Please _do not betray my faith in you."

"Promise," Fletcher uttered, holding his tied hands up. Using the tip of his sword, Fenris made a cut to the rope and then untied the knot. Fletcher rubbed his wrists and grinned at the elf, but thankfully there was no sign of anything sinister in his smile. However, Fenris knew better than to completely let his guard down, especially when he noticed a challenging look pass between the two mages.

Remembering a puzzle he once set for the child slaves - where a fox, a chicken and a sack of grain had to be transported across a river – Fenris decided it would be safer for Fletcher to be lowered down first. As Torbal secured the rope around his and Fletcher's waists, Fenris asked if Torbal would be able to comfortably bear Fletcher's weight.

"More to the point, will the _rope _bear his weight?" Anders sniped.

"It'll bear the weight of your neck if you don't shut up," Fletcher retorted. "Just come over here and I'll show you."

"Enough!" scolded Fenris. "In case you have forgotten, the darkspawn will be upon us later this morning. We do not have_ time_ for your petty quarrelling. Now, you will either be lowered down, or you will be _thrown _down. Which is it to be?"

"You wouldn't throw me down!" Fletcher chuckled, his laughter quickly fading when Fenris advanced on him, eyes glinting.

"Do _not_ test me, Fletcher. _Either _of you. Now, hurry up!" he ordered.

"Better do as he says, Hawke," advised Torbal, and the dejected Fletcher moved to the edge, attempting a forlorn look at Fenris, but the elf folded his arms, unmoved.

With Anders's wisp for company, Fletcher was steadily lowered down. As he weighed almost twice as much as Fenris, however, both Torbal and Vonim took the strain.

"Hey, Elf," Vonim said to Fenris once Fletcher had reached the bottom. "I've been thinkin'. Assuming we all make it through this fight, how are we gonna lower the last person down?"

"I have considered that, as well as the fight. Fear not, Dwarf; I have solutions to both, provided Anders is fit to cast spells."

"I ain't afraid, Elf. I was just wonderin' who'd be lowering us dwarves down."

"No one," answered Fenris with a hint of a smile as the rope was brought back up and tied around his waist. "Are you _still_ unafraid?"

"I _am_ capable of casting spells," Anders interjected, slightly offended, "but I can't summon a huge hand to carry them down, you know!"

"Good. Then we will each need a light source," said Fenris, and Anders summoned two more large wisps, using exaggerated arm movements to prove the efficacy of his magic.

"When we reach the other side of the chasm, I will reveal my plans," promised the elf as he was lowered down by Torbal. "_Provided _there are no shenanigans."

"Tell _him_, then!" Anders pointed to the bottom of the chasm where Fletcher awaited, and Fenris groaned.

"Follow me, Orb," he instructed the wisp, and they both descended.

After one last wistful glance at the lyrium tunnel, Anders was successfully transported to the bottom of the chasm, and noticed immediately that Fletcher was possessively clutching Fenris's hand. However, Anders no longer felt as drawn to the elf as he had in the tunnel, and shook his head, wondering why he had. Fletcher, on the other hand, watched Anders like a hawk and refused to relinquish Fenris's hand.

"What's…_that_?" Anders asked, looking at the surrounding walls and the floor beneath the water, which, under the light of their wisps, appeared to be made of pale blue glass.

"It looks like lyrium." Fletcher finally released Fenris's hand and the two mages waded over to one of the walls, running their hands along it.

"That was what I suspected," offered Fenris, "but my markings do not react to it, and, it appears, neither do either of you."

"Everything okay down there?" Torbal shouted down.

"Yes, thank you," answered Fenris. "I recommend that you and Vonim get some sleep. The others will wake you when they arrive."

"Will do, Fenris; make sure you and the kids get some shut-eye, as well," was the dwarf's answer, and he could almost feel Fenris's glare in response to his quip.

"You know, there's one way to test if this is lyrium," Anders mused. "I could cast a spell directly at the walls, but am I correct in assuming that mana usage causes your markings to hurt, Fenris?"

"I'll kill you if you hurt him!" Fletcher growled, clearly still not in his right mind.

Fenris laid a steadying hand on Fletcher's chest and waited until he'd calmed down. "I don't believe it's as simple as that," Fenris said to Anders. "When I spoke to your spirit, I also felt pain. It…_he_ was not casting."

Anders frowned heavily and thought for a moment. "Then maybe…maybe the Fade reacts with your markings. When mages cast spells, the Fade is opened momentarily. Justice is a conduit to the Fade. Are there any other times when your markings hurt, Fenris?"

"When he's asleep," Fletcher contributed, once again taking hold of Fenris's hand. "The pain wakes him up."

The mages' eyes met and Fletcher gasped. "Elves and humans enter the Fade when they're asleep, but unless they're a mage, they're unaware of it."

"That's it!" Anders exclaimed, snapping his fingers. "It's not mana or magic that hurts you, Fenris; it's the Fade itself! Maker, your master must have been-"

"What? A fucking genius?" Fletcher raged, releasing Fenris's hand.

"No!" Anders held his hands up in appeasement. "Obviously, he's insane. What I'm trying to say is: if a mage is capable of this, then surely another mage can undo it? You and me, Hawke; if we put out heads together, we can _do _something! We can help Fenris!"

Fenris's mouth gaped open as he considered Anders's theory, but Fletcher was still suspicious. "Why would you do that?" he demanded. "What are you after?"

"Nothing! _Listen_ to me! You're not thinking straight, Hawke; the lyrium affected you more than me, because I had Justice's protection until not long ago. I'm _not_ after Fenris, trust me. I'm just trying to help. Fenris was good enough to persuade Justice to release me when we were in the tunnel, and his problem gives me something other than the darkspawn to think about, if you must know."

Flashes of clarity blinked through the fog of Fletcher's mind, and something told him that Anders was speaking the truth, although he still felt a need to be close to Fenris, and clutched the elf's hand tightly for the third time, saying nothing.

"For now, we _must _think of them," Fenris insisted. "If you wish, we will discuss your ideas at a later time. For now, let us get out of this cold water and discuss how we are to deal with the darkspawn. I have a plan, if you are willing to entertain it."

"Hawke?" Anders asked cautiously.

With a curt nod, Fletcher tugged at Fenris's hand and the elf led them all up the small tunnel to the far side of the chasm. When they reached the top, they lit a couple of fires to dry their clothes by and changed into their spares, which they'd carried in their packs.

Once they were settled and Fenris had apprised the mages of his plan, Anders called over to the dwarves, warning them that he was about to conduct an experiment.

"Brace yourself, Fenris," he warned. "Even if this _is _lyrium, and my spell is amplified, you'll only feel pain for a second, as the mana won't hurt you." The elf, who sat beside Fletcher, nodded stoically and Anders raised his staff, pointing it at one of the walls of the chasm.

"Let's see…something that won't harm us. How about a little frost?" Anders opened the Fade, drawing moisture from the air in the cavern and willing his body temperature to plummet, causing tiny crystals of ice to form on his fingertips and staff. Fenris's fingers dug into Fletcher's arm for a second, before his grip relaxed, and Fletcher ran a hand through Fenris's hair to soothe him.

"Woah!" Torbal and Vonim exclaimed from their ledge, and Fletcher and Fenris looked up in wonder as the entire chasm was lit by an unidentified light source. An eerie, icy-blue glow pulsed from the walls, and a loud cracking sound was heard from below as the underground lake froze solid. After a few seconds, the temperature in the cavern rose infinitesimally and tiny white flakes started to fall from the frozen ceiling.

"It's fucking snowing in the Deep Roads!" Torbal shouted over Anders's delighted laugh.

"It _is _lyrium!" Anders announced triumphantly as the dwarves and Fletcher and Fenris scrambled to cover the fires. "Hawke! Do you know what this means? We've discovered a new type of lyrium! One that _doesn't _cause insanity in its raw form! Just think what else it could do! I've never been so excited in my entire life!"

"I doubt the Chantry would share your enthusiasm," counselled the circumspect Fenris.

"Well, I'm not going to tell them; are you?" he asked his companions, and Fenris shook his head.

"No," uttered Fletcher with a hesitant smile, and then, as the memories of the previous day rushed into his mind, he clapped a hand over his mouth, tears springing to his eyes.

"Shh," reassured Fenris, moving to his side. "Do not waste your words on apologies; you were not responsible. Save your strength for the morning."

Closing his eyes and nodding, Fletcher stepped closer to Fenris and pulled him into a tight hug. In a rare allowance of public affection, Fenris held Fletcher for a moment, the snow settling on them, before he gently pulled away.

"Anders," Fenris said as the snowfall began to subside. "It would seem that our plan is going to work."

"It certainly will, Fenris." Anders walked over to both of them and offered the elf his hand, smiling when he shook it. He then offered it to Fletcher, who skipped the handshake and went straight for another hug.

"Now we should sleep," advised Fenris. "The others will arrive in a few hours' time, and the darkspawn not long after that. When we awaken, we must waste no time."

"Whatever you say, Boss," Fletcher replied softly, and Fenris rolled his eyes but led the two mages over to one of the fires where they settled down, with Fletcher resting his head on Fenris's shoulder, and Anders reclining on an elbow.

"Would you really have pushed us over the edge?" Fletcher asked Fenris as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

"_Oh_, yes," joked Anders. "He meant every word."

"Sadly, we will never know," Fenris said drily. "You would be advised to consider that the next time you do not do as you are told."

The threesome called their goodnights to the dwarves before wishing each other a restful sleep, although, with the imminent arrival of the darkspawn, they knew that none of them would be doing much sleeping.


	62. Chapter 62

_My sincere thanks to Uber-beta Mary for your fabulous suggestions, as well as listening to me whinge about having to write another fight scene. You made it a lot easier!_

~o~O~o~

Fletcher was woken by a sharp tap on the shoulder. A few blurred shapes slowly came into focus, and he could see that Anders and Fenris were already up, and stood a short distance away, talking to Sebastian. So who had roused him?

"Wake up, you!"

Fletcher groaned softly and turned to Isabela, who squatted next to him, holding a wriggling Tufty under one arm. "Morning," he mumbled, reluctantly sitting up.

"I was the first to volunteer to come and wake you," she told him brightly. "It reminded me of when I used to climb up to the mizzen. Oh, don't worry," she laughed at Fletcher's expression of blank bleariness, "I wore trousers when I did that. If I hadn't, nothing would have got done. Can you _imagine_?"

"Unfortunately, I can," said Fletcher through a yawn, and Isabela laughed loudly.

"Anyway, I'd better see Fenris; I have a gift for him," she whispered conspiratorially with a nod at Tufty. "Maybe it'll put a smile on his face; he doesn't look very happy to me," she observed, and sprang to her feet, winking at Fletcher before she walked over to the others.

Fletcher's stomach plummeted as he glanced at the elf, who appeared distracted and troubled while conversing with Sebastian – who had insisted on accompanying Isabela – and Anders. Fletcher placed his hands over his mouth and shook his head as he remembered the way he'd behaved in the tunnel, and the look in Fenris's eyes when Fletcher had accused him of betrayal, with Anders of all people.

"I brought your friend to see you!" he heard Isabela chirp, and looked up to see Tufty being thrust into the aghast elf's arms. "He's missed you terribly. And _he's_ not the only one," said the pirate with a cheeky grin.

"Um…_thank_ you," Fenris muttered unconvincingly, leaning back to avoid Tufty's probing snout, but the nug was having none of it and he scurried up Fenris's arm, perching on the elf's shoulder, where he began snuffling Fenris's ear and neck.

"Stop-_stop _that!" snapped Fenris, squirming as he plucked Tufty off him, placing the nug on the ground.

"Careful, Fenris! He'll wander over the edge!" scolded Isabela as she ran to scoop Tufty up.

"That is _his _choice," said Fenris unsympathetically with a withering glare at the pirate. "Excuse me," he said tightly to the others, and walked over to Fletcher, sitting down heavily next to the mage.

"Bad night?" Fletcher asked softly.

Fenris glanced back at the others and huffed. "You could say that. You will have to forgive me. I am short on sleep and feel quite…fractious." That wasn't a lie, and Fenris took comfort from that, but would it be lying if he didn't tell Fletcher – on Anders's advice – that they would be facing not only two dozen darkspawn, but an ogre as well?

_Your brother kept the truth from me; you have just said as much. That is the same as lying._

Fenris's own words, spoken to Bethany at the Dalish camp, returned to him unbidden. A headache bloomed at the base of his skull and he rolled his shoulders, trying without success to shrug off his building tension.

"Well, we didn't sleep at all the night before, so that's understandable," said Fletcher lightly. "Why didn't you sleep last night?"

"Anders had a…nightmare," Fenris explained quietly. "We did not want to wake you. I believe it was brought on by the proximity of the darkspawn." Fenris sighed and glanced at Fletcher. "If I am tetchy at all, then please ignore me. I mean…if I am _more _tetchy than usual," he added wryly, his voice softening.

"You're not tetchy; you're just not a morning person," consoled Fletcher with a half-smile. "Anyway, you've put up with more than your fair share from me over the last couple of days." His voice tapered off and he shook his head, his shoulders drooping.

"That was not your fault," said Fenris.

"And it's not your fault you haven't slept." Fletcher rested his hand on Fenris's arm, and the elf sighed softly. "Were you up _all_ night with Anders?"

"Most of it, yes. He was calling out in his sleep, and I woke him before he woke you."

Fletcher glanced at Anders, who was explaining their plan to Isabela and Sebastian. "Did he call out for Ruben again?" he whispered, and Fenris nodded.

"I wonder who he is?" Fletcher wondered aloud.

"Someone from his childhood, perhaps?" speculated the elf. "Ruben is a common name in the Anderfels."

"He mentioned a brother, but never told me his name," Fletcher replied thoughtfully. "I wonder if-"

"Let's get going," Anders loudly instructed, and Fenris stood up, holding a hand out to Fletcher, who took it, but looked across the chasm at the entrance to the lyrium tunnel as he stood up.

"I-I don't want to go back," he admitted nervously, his eyes still fixed on the tunnel.

"We must," Fenris gently urged.

"Then I'll have to be tied up again," insisted Fletcher.

"No," said Anders, having heard the latter part of their conversation. He moved beside them and placed a hand on Fletcher's shoulder. "You'll be _outside _the tunnel, and not directly affected by the lyrium. You might be a bit jumpy, but I don't believe you'll pose a threat to anyone."

"Then I want to help," Fletcher said.

Anders shook his head. "We've already discussed this. You're not strong enough; your body's been through a lot over the last day or so. You'll stay out of the fighting."

"But I can't just sit there and do nothing!" he protested hotly.

"You _can_ and you _will_," Fenris dictated. "You are exhausted."

"But I've had some sleep! And you told me you'd allow me to protect you," Fletcher said to Fenris. "Unless my hands are tied, I _will _be doing that." Fletcher stubbornly folded his arms and locked eyes with the elf. After a moment, Fenris sighed and glanced at Anders.

"All right, you can keep an eye on Fenris _only_," Anders conceded, deciding that it might be better for Fletcher to have something to focus on, "but that's it. _No _offensive spells. I'll put you to sleep if I catch you doing that. Leave the primals to _me_."

Fletcher looked at Anders and then Fenris, whose eyes darted back and forth between the two mages, hoping that Fletcher would not see another conspiracy brewing. Fletcher was way ahead of him, however; he did _not _want a repeat of his behaviour the night before. "Fair enough," he sighed. "No offensive magic, I promise."

Accepting Fletcher's word, Anders led the small group towards the tunnel that would take them down to the underground stream, which he'd defrosted with magic. The other workers had been busy since their arrival, and torches had been fixed to parts of the chasm walls after the dwarves had deemed the 'new' lyrium safe to work with. To Fletcher's surprise, a Bianca-less Varric and Torbal were standing in the water – which came up to their chests - examining the walls and speaking in hushed tones.

"There you are, Hawke," Varric greeted, beckoning his young friend closer. "Heard you had some trouble in the tunnel. Everything okay, now?"

"I'm fine, Varric," he answered, "and I wasn't the one who _had _trouble; rather, the one who caused it," he said ruefully, and Fenris, moving beside him, shook his head in disagreement.

"Don't beat yourself up over it, Hawke; none of us would even be in this section of the Deep Roads if it weren't for my brother. No, we'd be stinking rich by now, and free of craziness, temporary or otherwise," he said cheerfully, nodding for Anders and Fenris to draw closer.

"We'll go on up, Varric," Sebastian called over as he assisted Isabela with the rope while she held Tufty. "They should have finished breakfast by now. We'll get everyone in position. Hawke, we saved you some porridge."

"You got it," replied Varric, and Fletcher nodded gratefully at the archer.

"Wait," Fletcher asked with a glance at Torbal, "who's holding the rope?"

"No one," Anders supplied. "Fenris had a good idea. Another one," he amended, looking up at the two lengths of rope that now hung down. "He wondered if I was able to fuse the rope to the rock with a spell. After a few attempts, we managed it; I used a rock spell. I should have thought of it myself, actually." He smiled at Fenris, who modestly shrugged his shoulders.

"You _have _been busy, haven't you?" Fletcher asked, relieved and delighted that his friends had worked so well together, though he felt guilty that he hadn't been of any help, more so when Anders and Fenris yawned.

"Hey, speaking of good ideas," Varric cut in, "Torbal and I have been discussing this discovery of yours." Grinning as the tired threesome frowned in confusion, he elaborated. "The lyrium? You know – what this entire chasm is made of?"

"Oh, yes," Anders mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"Listen," Varric whispered. "As much of a shit as Bartrand is, he might have done us a huge favour taking us down this section. This stuff," he said with a wave of his hand, "could be worth a bloody fortune to the right people. I mean, lyrium that _doesn't _harm mages in its raw form? Think of it! We could set up a supply chain to rival that of the Chantry's!"

Fletcher and Fenris cast a doubtful glance at the dwarf, but Anders's face lit up.

"I don't know, Varric," said Fletcher. "That would be pretty risky. The Chantry has teeth, you know. They guard their monopoly of the lyrium trade fiercely."

"How would they know, Hawke?" Torbal asked with a shrug. "Varric and I have it all figured out. This stuff's pretty enough to be turned into trinkets. We set up a few little market stalls as a front, but those in the know – trusted contacts, mind you – could shift it for us by the cartload. So long as we're careful over who we deal with, and who we employ, we'd end up not just stinking rich, but _filthy _rich."

"Are you suggesting that this lyrium be mined?" Fenris asked quietly.

"We're not suggesting it, Elf," said Varric. "We're already planning it. We have plenty of mining equipment left behind in the first chamber, and hopefully we'll get enough money together to buy some more, as well as employing miners. Blondie, there are plenty of able men in the Undercity seeking gainful employment, aren't there, but no one will take them on because they're refugees-"

"Maker, Varric!" Anders exclaimed with a huge smile. "If they worked down here, they could get back on their feet! That's a wonderful idea!"

"And you two," Varric said to Anders and Fenris, "would take a share of any profits made. Hawke, you told me before we came down here that any money we make from this expedition would be split between us, Blondie and Broody, as they helped you to get your fifty sovereign investment together, right? Gentlemen, we're going to be rich!"

Fletcher's face brightened; not only would many of his fellow refugees find employment, but he'd finally be able to repay Fenris and Anders for all of their help.

Noticing Fletcher's expression, Varric grinned. "So, we're all happy about this? In that case, I'd like to introduce you to the mine's foreman." Torbal bowed as far as the water would allow and offered his hand to each of them in turn, but frowned when Fenris did not shake it.

"I do not mean to be rude," Fenris began with a sigh. "I congratulate you all and wish you luck with your venture, but I cannot be involved in it."

"Why?" Fletcher asked, concerned. "What's the matter?"

Fenris shook his head. "As I am a member of the city Guard, a conflict of interest would arise should I profit from this venture in any way. I am not aware of the laws governing the Deep Roads, or the lyrium trade, but I suspect that your proposed mining operation would be considered 'black market'. Fear not; I understand loyalty, and will speak of this to no one. However, I must decline your offer."

"Well, that's a real shame, Elf," sighed Varric as Fletcher looked at him, hugely disappointed.

"But…I owe you," Fletcher murmured. "We wouldn't even be here if it weren't for you and Anders; both of you helped me to get my money for the expedition."

"I did not accompany you to make money," Fenris said with a faint smile. "I accompanied you to keep you out of harm's way. Besides, I owe _you _more than I will ever be able to repay."

Sensing that the couple needed to talk alone, Anders and the two dwarves moved over to the ropes and waited until Sebastian and Isabela had ascended. "This is between us," Varric told them first, and they all agreed.

"You can't just come out of this expedition with nothing," Fletcher argued once the others were out of earshot. "In my opinion, you've worked harder and have come up with more ideas than anyone else here. Anders and I may have been put in charge of the maps, but _you've_ been a leader, whether you care to admit it or not."

Fenris shrugged diffidently and cleared his throat. "It was not my intent to lead," he sighed. "If it pleases you, I will take a share of any minerals or precious stones we find down here, though I have no need of riches; I have enough. I have friends, a position within the Kirkwall Guard – which I am very proud of and have no intention of foreswearing, I'll have you know – plus the companionship of a man whose care and trust have made me a better person."

"Who is he? I'll kill him!" Fletcher joked, glancing around, and Fenris chuckled, grinning widely.

"I already have much," said Fenris softly, still smiling, his fingertips brushing against Fletcher's hand beneath the water. "Why would I want more? With you at my side, I have all I need."

Their eyes met, and, aware that most of the group were probably looking down at them from atop the ledge, Fletcher groaned, holding himself back. "How long has it been since I last kissed you?"

"_Too_ long," answered the elf with a note of wistfulness. "We are going to have quite a backlog to clear. For now, though, let us return. The darkspawn will be upon us within an hour or so, and you have not yet broken your fast." Fenris released Fletcher's hand and gestured to the ropes, just as Anders and Varric clambered over the ledge.

"Yes, Boss," Fletcher teased, and Fenris shook his head. "When we're clear of the darkspawn, we _are _going to discuss your remuneration. You might not be able to profit from the mine, but you're not leaving this expedition empty-handed. You should be compensated for loss of earnings, at the very least."

"As you wish," uttered Fenris in a tone that told Fletcher he had no intention of bringing up the subject of payment, which only made Fletcher more determined that Fenris would be fairly reimbursed. Moving to the ropes, Fletcher halted and glanced up; from where they were standing, they couldn't see the others, or Torbal, who was being pulled up.

"At least let me _show_ you how grateful I am," uttered Fletcher, and Fenris also looked up, a languorous smile appearing as his eyes moved to Fletcher's.

"Very well," Fenris said quietly, moving closer to Fletcher, who clutched his arms, pulling him close. "If only to spare your feelings."

When, after a few minutes, there was no sign of an elf or a mage climbing up the ropes, Varric peered over the edge and chuckled to himself. "There's a lot of water down there," he called down. "You two really should _come up for air_, you know."

"Shut up, Dwarf," Fenris was heard to mutter, and there was a short pause, before the ropes were pulled taut.

~o~O~o~

"_Another _one?" Aveline exclaimed, pushing up off her chair. "Where was she found this time?"

"Darktown," Guardswoman Brennan sighed, watching as Aveline paced back and forth. "Same mutilation as the last one."

"How did this happen in the Undercity? There are hundreds of people down there! Are you telling me no one saw anything? Or knows anything?"

"Donnic and Filbert are questioning people now," Brennan told her agitated guard-captain. "They should have gone to bed hours ago, but they're gutted it happened on their shift. There's some templar sniffing around down there as well."

Aveline stopped pacing and laid her palms flat on her desk. "It didn't necessarily happen _in _Darktown, or last night. The woman found at the docks was starting to decompose. This poor cow was probably just dumped there."

Brennan shook her head. "No, Captain. This one was fresh. Said they could still smell the cologne on her, they did."

Aveline looked up. "Was she a whore?"

"No; another respectable, middle-aged housewife."

"Shit." Aveline picked up her sword and shield and hefted them onto her back. "Let's get down there and relieve Donnic and Filbert, and find out what this templar wants."

"But…what about the Qunari, Captain?" asked Brennan, suspecting she already knew the answer.

"Bugger the Qunari," was Aveline's succinct reply, and Brennan repressed a snigger as they left the office.

"Guard-Captain Vallen," a supercilious voice drawled from behind them as they approached the stairs.

"Seneschal," Aveline replied crisply without turning around, picking up her pace.

"I was _not _greeting you, Guard-Captain."

"Jumped-up little turd," she muttered under her breath before turning around. "What is it? I'm busy."

Taking his time, Bran slowly sauntered over to the two guards and straightened his tunic before addressing the captain. "I need not remind you that His Excellency is expecting the Qunari delegation to arrive shortly."

"Your reminder is noted and appreciated, Seneschal." Aveline turned around and once again headed for the stairs.

"I also need not remind you that your presence is _required_," insisted Bran, and Aveline gritted her teeth as she turned around for the second time.

"And, once again, your reminder is appreciated. Now, if you'll excuse me, there's a nutter on the loose in Darktown-"

"Then have your guards do their jobs," sniffed Bran, folding his arms and looking Brennan up and down. "For the captain of the guard_ not_ to be in attendance during the Qunari visit would be most…unseemly."

Bristling at Bran's condescending attitude, Aveline mirrored his stance by folding her own arms. "The Qunari are a race of warriors who respect strength. _ I _suspect a guard-captain who sits behind a desk with her thumb up her arse would be _unseemly_ to them."

Bran winced at her words as if he'd been struck. "_Please_, Guard-Captain. There is no need for such…_rustic _language."

"There's every need," she retorted. "I'll not have a lunatic running around the city chopping women's hands off while_ I'm _too busy following etiquette. Unless, of course, _you _want to conduct the investigation in Darktown? From what I hear, you're well-acquainted with the place."

"I…I'm sure I don't know _what _you mean," stuttered Bran indignantly.

"I'm pleased we understand each other," said Aveline, heading for the stairs again, this time wearing a smug grin.

"But…what am I to tell His Excellency?"

"You'd not like my answer to that, Seneschal," answered Aveline, already halfway down the stairs. "Might be too _rustic _for those delicate ears of yours."

~o~O~o~

They were ready. All but two torches had been extinguished; the two on the far side of the chasm, where the darkspawn would emerge. Anders's taint would push them forward, and hopefully a few of them would fall over the edge, but the creatures wouldn't be fooled for long. No, for their plan to work, the darkspawn would have to be lured into the water, and for that to happen, they would need bait.

"How long?" Fenris asked Anders as Torbal put the finishing touches to his rope harness. Fenris would be lowered halfway down the wall of the chasm accompanied by a few wisps, making him, and the ropes, visible. Once the darkspawn started to descend, Fenris and the ropes would be pulled up, leaving the darkspawn as sitting ducks.

The trouble was, Fenris would also be a sitting duck for a short time. Although the elf was confident in the protective magic that Anders and Fletcher would bestow upon him, Fletcher wasn't, and he chewed his fingernails, constantly glancing at the lyrium tunnel behind them, which did nothing to calm his nerves.

"Ironic, isn't it?" Fletcher said to Fenris. "When we first met, I was angry at you for using us as bait. And now _you're_ the bait." A broken laugh spilled out of him, and Fenris smiled, placing a hand on Fletcher's arm.

"And our foes will be as unsuccessful now as they were then," Fenris assured him. "How long?" he asked Anders again.

"Fifteen minutes, maybe? They're not far."

Fenris smiled at Fletcher again, squeezing his arm. "We are going to test the harness. I will return shortly."

Fletcher nodded silently, and Varric moved over to him, launching into his repertoire of corny jokes in the hope of making his friend laugh.

Fenris walked to the edge, followed by Anders and Torbal, and looked down. "Are you going to tell him?" he asked Anders quietly.

"I don't see the point, now," Anders mumbled. "I know you don't like keeping things from him, but it won't be able to get into this chamber; it's too big. When the rest of the darkspawn are taken care of, we can deal with it. I don't want Hawke losing his concentration while he's keeping an eye on you."

Fenris closed his eyes and groaned, reluctantly nodding. "Let us proceed," he said listlessly to Torbal.

After a few run-throughs, Fenris and Torbal were satisfied. No magic – save the wisps – had been used, though, for fear of depleting the mages' mana.

"All right, everyone in position!" Anders called out, estimating it would be less than five minutes before the arrival of the darkspawn.

The frontline fighters hid behind a barricade fashioned from sacks of food and other equipment, while the rest of the group, along with the nugs, stayed in the relative safety of the lyrium tunnel. Varric and Sebastian found comfortable positions and rested their weapons on the barricade, giving them a clear shot across the chasm; a few practise arrows and bolts confirmed that they were in range. Isabela, Thirin, and a few of the humans – all skilled in throwing knives – were also on standby to pick off any darkspawn the archers missed.

The mages, both nervous for different reasons, stood near the archers; Anders behind Varric and Fletcher beside Sebastian, where he'd have a clear view of Fenris as he was lowered down in the harness. Wiping his sweating palms on his robe, Fletcher glanced over at Anders and felt a wave of resentment and anger wash over him.

"No," he whispered to himself, realising that his nearness to the tunnel was evoking negative thoughts and emotions in him. "No!"

"Hawke?" Sebastian asked. "Are you well?"

"I'm fine, thank you," he answered quickly, before sighing. "No…I'm not. Sebastian – will you…will you keep an eye on me? The tunnel," he muttered, nodding to it.

"Join me, Hawke," invited the archer, holding his arm out. "The light of the Maker will shield us both."

Strangely comforted by that, Hawke moved closer to Sebastian, who placed a hand on Hawke's shoulder. "There is nothing to fear, Hawke. We are all part of the Maker's grand design, and He will call us to stand at his right hand when it is our time." When Fletcher stared ahead without answering, Sebastian added, "But I do not believe that _our_ time is now. We _will _prevail, have no fear."

"Will-will the light of the Maker shield Fenris, as well?" Fletcher asked meekly.

"Yes," answered Sebastian confidently, "as will _you_, guided by Him. Do not doubt your abilities, Hawke; if someone as cautious as Fenris trusts you with his safety, then I have no doubts that you will keep him safe. _ I_ wouldn't question Fenris's judgement; would you?"

"No." Bolstered by Sebastian's faith in him, Fletcher straightened and took a deep breath. "Thank you. For humouring me."

"I wasn't," smiled Sebastian, and Fletcher, feeling warmth spread through his chest, smiled back at him.

"They're on their way," Anders warned, his fear not quite successfully hidden behind his brusquely-spoken words.

All talking stopped, and the only sound to be heard was the _clank_ of Bianca's gears. They waited. After a minute, the quiet clearing of a throat came from inside the lyrium tunnel, followed by a loud tut.

"There," whispered Sebastian, readying his bow as the first hurlock cautiously ventured onto the ledge.

"Don't shoot it," Anders advised. "Let's see if any of them are stupid enough to walk off the ledge."

The hurlock halted and waved its crudely-fashioned sword, and was quickly joined by several more of its kind, all of whom stared through the gloom directly at Anders's group.

"Don't worry, they can't see us," Anders assured the others. "It's my taint. They know I'm here; they're just wondering why I haven't attacked them, I guess."

"Well, I ain't standing 'round here waitin' for 'em to decide!" Torbal exclaimed, and rose to his feet, placing finger and thumb in his mouth and emitting an ear-splitting whistle. "Hey, freaks!" he roared. "Why dontcha come over here and make friends with my axe?"

"And let's not forget Bianca!" Varric joined in, letting fly a bolt which whistled past the hurlock's ear. Enraged, the hurlock and some of his fellows charged forward, only to plummet over the ledge. Several splashes were heard, as well as shrieks when their bones fractured upon contact with the stone bed of the shallow stream.

Arrows were quickly fired in the direction of Anders's group, but, as the darkspawn could not pinpoint their adversaries' positions, none of them met their target. Some of the darkspawn group – now five less – slowly edged forward, stopping at the lip of the chasm, while others, having spotted the tunnel, headed straight for it.

"Here they come," muttered Fenris, sitting on the edge while Torbal prepared to lower him down.

"Target their archers!" Sebastian ordered, and a volley of bolts, arrows and knives flew across the chasm, dropping four of the darkspawn.

Finally, the darkspawn on the ledge retreated, while splashing was heard from below as the creatures in the water blindly thrashed around.

"Let's draw 'em out, Fenris," said Torbal, and he and the elf nodded at each other. Before he was lowered down, Fenris turned in Fletcher's direction.

"Be ready, Fletcher."

"I'm right here, Fen," he answered from the darkness.

Anders crouched behind the barricade and summoned three wisps. "Don't show yourselves until Fenris tells you to," he ordered the tiny spheres of light, and they winked out, drifting over the edge to follow the elf.

Fletcher's stomach twisted with each creak of the rope, but remembering Sebastian's words, he took a deep breath, his hands trembling as he readied himself to protect the man he loved.

A few more arrows were exchanged as Fenris was lowered down, but none of them were aimed at the elf. Several of the food bags were hit, though, rendering them unusable as the arrows might carry the darkspawns' taint.

A tug on the rope indicated that Fenris was ready, and Torbal halted his descent by standing on the rope. Isabela, who stood next to Torbal, helpfully wiped the sweat from the dwarf's brow and was rewarded with a hairy peck on the cheek.

Fletcher squinted, holding his breath as he waited for the tiniest spark of light to appear from below. As the light of the wisps slowly waxed, Fletcher concentrated on the stone and willed its strength and durability to protect Fenris. "_Robus Caementi_," he chanted, reciting a fortifying spell that Anders had taught him. Fenris's grunt from below confirmed that the spell had worked, and Fletcher released his breath in a relieved sigh.

"I am here, _Lusus Naturanum_," Fenris announced loudly as he and the ropes were lit up. "I am climbing up the _ropes_. Do you not have the intelligence to use them?"

A clamour erupted from the other side of the ledge, and the darkspawn on the upper level charged toward the tunnel, leaving only one behind. Several arrows were fired at the elf and one glanced off his shoulder, puncturing the skin but not penetrating it, thanks to Fletcher's spell.

"Is that the best you can do?" the elf taunted.

"Shit!" Anders exclaimed as an orange glow originated from the lone darkspawn atop the ledge. "Emissary! Everyone get down!"

Torbal ducked behind the barricade, keeping hold of the rope, as the fireball rocked their ledge, destroying several of the food bags. Anders's retaliatory spell and Sebastian's arrow both missed the emissary as it threw itself to the ground and crawled out of sight.

"No!" Torbal growled. "The rope! Fenris!" the dwarf pulled up the rope, which was still aflame where it had been severed by the fireball.

"Fenris?" Fletcher yelled, rushing to the edge. "Fenris!"

"He's alive, Hawke!" Anders grabbed Fletcher's arm and yanked him behind the rapidly-shrinking barricade. "My wisps haven't returned to me, and they've been dimmed. He's hiding."

"But-but he might be injured, burned!" babbled Fletcher.

"He had the presence of mind to conceal himself, Hawke," Anders reassured him. "But I can't do what I have to do until he's out of the water. We need to stop them from going back up the tunnel, and we need to eliminate that emissary. I need you to focus, Hawke!"

"I'll take care of the mage, Anders," Sebastian called over as he loosed an arrow at the emissary, who was attempting to break cover. "Damn!" he cursed when the arrow missed, causing the darkspawn mage to once again retreat before Sebastian could nock another arrow.

"Elf!" Varric shouted into the gloom. "If you can hear me, and if you're able, get out of the damned water, quick!"

"Wait!" Anders grabbed Fletcher's arm. "He's in the tunnel! Or at least, the wisps are…he must be with them, Hawke!"

"Don't do it until you're sure, Anders! Please!" Fletcher urged frantically.

"I won't." Anders moved closer to the edge and listened to the splashing and guttural curses that came from the darkspawn as another arrow flew across the chasm, once again missing its target. "Come on, Fenris," he urged. "Let me know that you're out of the water!"

"Got him, Choirboy," Varric called to Sebastian as the emissary again moved out of cover, and Varric took aim, but he lowered Bianca when the mage staggered forward, dropping its staff, as black ichor pumped out of a gaping hole in its belly.

"Broody?" Varric shouted, and he beamed when Fenris emerged onto the far ledge, dropping to his knees as the emissary fell. "Ha ha! Broody to the rescue!" he cheered.

"Right, everybody back!" Anders commanded. A few of the darkspawn, having followed Fenris, appeared on the ledge, but were quickly picked off by Varric and Sebastian, as well as a perfectly-aimed dagger from Isabela.

"Fenris! Are you all right?" Fletcher yelled across the chasm, ignoring Anders. The elf was now on all fours, but managed to raise a hand in answer before slumping onto his belly.

"Fenris!"

"Get back, Hawke!" Anders and Torbal dragged Fletcher away and Anders strode forward, pointing his staff downwards. "Take this, you bastards!" he snarled, and sent arcing bolts of electricity into the water. Screams of outrage and agony rose from the darkspawn and reverberated off the walls, rising high up into the chamber before ending abruptly. An eerie silence settled over the chamber.

"Fenris-" Fletcher cried anxiously, scrambling to his feet, running for the one piece of rope that had been left intact.

"No, I'll go!" Anders exclaimed. "You can't go in the water, now; it'll be tainted! I'll freeze it in a bit but I need to see to Fenris, first!"

Torbal hastily tied the rope around Anders's waist and, with Vonim's help, lowered the healer down. Anders quickly untied himself and waded through the water- black with the darkspawns' tainted blood – and staggered up the tunnel until he finally reached Fenris.

Fletcher watched with unblinking eyes, his heart threatening to burst out of his chest, as Anders conducted his examination, and he felt the soft caress of healing magic being sent into the elf. "He's going to be all right, Hawke," Anders shouted across. "He's got a nasty burn to his shoulder, and he was badly winded and bruised by the fall, but-"

A sudden boom rocked the chamber, and Anders's head jerked around in its direction, before he turned his attention back to Fenris.

"What the hell is that?" Torbal demanded.

"Looks like our ogre's shown up," shouted Varric over the rhythmic tattoo that thundered from the far side of the chasm.

"Ogre?" Fletcher's eyes darted back to Fenris and Anders, and he walked forward, his body seemingly under the control of someone else.

"No, Hawke," Torbal remonstrated, stepping in front of the mage. "You heard Anders. You can't go in the water."

"Get out of my way, Torbal," growled Fletcher. "Either lower me down, or I'll _jump_ down. Don't think I won't."

"Don't make me do this, Hawke." Torbal reached for his axe, and Fletcher willed himself to partially enter the Fade, determining that Vonim was creeping up behind him.

"Damnit, Hawke!" Varric shouted as Fletcher dived for the rope, spilling over the edge, the rope slipping through his fingers. For a heartbeat, he thought he would tumble to his death and then his fingers caught and held the rope tightly as he banged into the stone wall.

"Gah!" Torbal quickly stepped on the rope. "You stubborn bastard! Okay, have it your way! Hold on tight!" The rope was drawn taut as Torbal lowered Fletcher down before going slack as the mage entered the water.

"Don't get any water near your face or ears!" called Varric, and Anders's head snapped up as another shoulder charge from the ogre shook the chamber.

"What? Who's coming up?" Anders demanded, his face dropping when Fletcher appeared at the top of the tunnel. "Bloody hell, Hawke! What did I tell you? Did you get any water in your mouth? Do you have any cuts on your body? Answer me, Hawke!"

Not hearing him, Fletcher glowered down the tunnel behind Anders, seeing only the monster that killed his brother, and another charge from the ogre sent a small cloud of dust down on Fletcher's head.

"You're not having my friends, as well!" he yelled, and picked up Anders's discarded staff.

"Hawke, no! Don't! _Don't!_"

Nearing the rear tunnel, Fletcher pointed both staves at the ogre's head and called upon his trusty flame spell, sending a swirling funnel of fire into the beast, its power amplified by using both weapons in combination.

"Burn, you bastard!" Fletcher vociferated, his eyes glittering with a savage red gleam as he committed his last reserves of mana to the ogre's destruction.

A bellow, strident and piercing, filled the chamber as the ogre staggered back and bounced off the rock, falling with a crash onto its back, and it flailed, unable to right itself as the intense flame consumed it.

Anders, having stabilised Fenris, jumped to his feet and wrestled with Fletcher for possession of his staff. "That's enough, Hawke! You got it! Now stop before you kill yourself!"

Fletcher broke free and, even as Anders tackled him to the ground, used his last iota of mana to inflict further damage and suffering upon the beast.

"Stop it!" Anders commanded, snatching the staves away and throwing them out of reach.

"You'll never hurt anyone again!" Fletcher roared, and the image of Carver fleeted through his mind, before it was filled with blackness, and he collapsed, unconscious.

**Robus Caementi = Strength of Stone**

**Lusus Naturanum = Literally, 'whims of nature'. Freaks, mutants, monsters.**


	63. Chapter 63

_My humble thanks to Mary, without whom this story would be quite different, and not in a good way. You rock! :D_

_I'm quite astonished by the kindness of a lovely lady named Shaina, who drew a beautiful piece of artwork to accompany the story. Please take a minute to look at it; you'll find it on her deviantart page at: _

_xrenaix . deviantart .com/art/Lyrium-Glow-304040299 (remove spaces)_

_She also filmed the process of drawing the piece, and recorded it on Youtube: youtu . be /DgaEELhV13g (remove spaces)_

_I've thanked you a hundred times already, Shaina, but thank you again, sincerely._

_~o~O~o~_

It took an entire day for the group to reorganise and transport their dwindling supplies across the chasm after defeating the darkspawn. Nearly a third of their food had been destroyed or rendered inedible, but all agreed that the barricade had been necessary. That, however, did not make the fact that the food situation was now dire any easier to swallow.

The underground stream had been temporarily frozen by Anders to allow safe passage, but, once they were across, the darkspawn were left to rot; the group had neither the time nor the resources to destroy the tainted corpses. The only advice Anders could offer was that no one drink any water at all in the Deep Roads; he and Fletcher would be able to make pure water using magic.

The usage of magic presented another problem, however: the fight, and Anders's subsequent treatment of Fletcher, had exhausted their supplies of usable lyrium. For the foreseeable future, the mages would have to limit their mana expenditure and allow their reserves to replenish naturally - through rest or sleep - but such a process could take hours, depending on how much mana the mage had used.

The most pressing matter, though, was the condition of Fenris and Fletcher. Fenris had fallen into the water belly-first and had sustained severe bruising as a result; he'd also had trouble breathing during the night as he'd been badly winded by the fall. Anders had ruled out internal bleeding or fractures but hadn't been able to offer much in the way of treatment save rest; therefore, Fenris had slept in a sitting position wearing an oxygen mask. He had since woken and been given a small meal, but, in spite of his protestations that he was well, Anders had insisted he continue to rest. Fenris had followed his advice for the most part but had taken a few short strolls to stretch his legs, each time checking on Fletcher.

Anders had forcibly put Fletcher to sleep after he'd collapsed, having used his mana beyond its normal limits: 'casting on empty', as Anders had described it. Fletcher's actions had left him gravely incapacitated and weakened, but thankfully his body had shut down before his heart had given out; a consequence Anders had heard of in other mages who'd behaved as recklessly as Fletcher had. Anders had stopped topping up his sleep spell several hours earlier to allow Fletcher to wake naturally; he would need to be given fluids soon, as well as food if he could manage it. As Fletcher began to stir, Anders and Varric talked while watching him from a distance.

"All I'm saying, Varric, is that no healer should have been able to defeat an ogre single-handedly. Without being disrespectful to Hawke, he's not even that accomplished a healer; he'd admit that himself. That's not his fault; he wasn't trained in a Circle. The point I'm making is that I – with my extensive training and background fighting darkspawn - wouldn't have managed it. Even Bethany would have struggled, and she's a battle mage. Actually, no; I'm going to stick my neck out and say that no single mage would have survived."

Varric looked at Fletcher – who sat examining his bare arms and hands, which appeared to be mildly burnt – and shrugged. "Isn't he a, um, blood mage? Aren't they supposed to be more powerful or something?"

"He didn't use blood magic."

"Then what do _you_ think it was, Blondie?" Varric lowered his voice and glanced at Fenris, who was standing stiffly at the far end of the small chamber they were in, his eyes fixed on Fletcher. "You think he lost it because he was thinking about his brother? Is that possible?"

Anders sighed, still unsure if he'd done the right thing by not telling Fletcher about the ogre. "It's obvious he was very distressed, and, in some circumstances, a mage will unconsciously commit extra mana to a spell if they're emotionally overwrought. But…again, I don't mean to insult him, but he's just not that powerful, even _with_ a burst of adrenaline."

"Now come on, Blondie; I've seen Hawke in action, and he's pretty darned impressive," replied Varric, a little defensively.

Anders held his hands up. "Don't get me wrong; he has terrific potential, but he needs to train, hone his abilities. I promised him that after the expedition, I'd mentor him while he helps me at the clinic. I suppose it's like what Hawke says about Fenris: he's very intelligent, but, without being able to read, he can't expand his knowledge – improve his intelligence. Does that make sense?"

"I guess so," muttered Varric, still watching the grim-faced Fenris, who was slowly walking over to Fletcher. "So…what do you think caused it?"

"Well, this is a long-shot, but I'm guessing it has something to do with the new lyrium," Anders said quietly. "It's the only explanation I can come up with. It's just a guess, though; I'll need to take a sample with me and run some tests."

"How do you think it affected him, then?" asked Varric with a frown.

"I really don't know. I will tell you, though, that during the fight, I felt that my spells were more…powerful than usual."

"Are you saying this is some kind of _super _lyrium?" Varric exclaimed excitedly.

"No. It's possible that ordinary lyrium also has an amplifying effect in its raw form; it's just that most mages wouldn't cast around raw lyrium, mainly because they wouldn't be in full possession of their faculties. I didn't cast while we were in the lyrium tunnel; I had no need to, so I wouldn't know. I'm _speculating _that the lyrium amplified Hawke's spell, but that's not necessarily a good thing, particularly to someone like him, who hasn't fully mastered control of his talents. This lyrium could actually be dangerous, simply because mages _would _have control of their faculties while using it."

Varric cast Anders a dubious glance. "And this is the part where you _stop_ making sense, Blondie."

"Well, _I _know what I mean," said Anders wearily, rubbing his forehead.

"You okay, Blondie? Maybe you'd better get some rest; you haven't stopped since we caught up with you." Varric touched Anders's arm, steering him away.

"No, I'd better check on Hawke, first," Anders answered.

"Well, at least let me stand you to a cup of tea," offered Varric with another glance at Fenris, who was now standing over the bewildered Fletcher with his arms folded. "Something tells me a _chewing-out _is imminent. Let's leave them to it."

"Yes, all right." Feeling like he would drop at any moment, Anders allowed himself to be guided over to the rest of the group, where he sat, keeping an eye on Fletcher and Fenris, while Varric rustled up some tea.

"Fen?" Fletcher, who was naked besides a pair of clean braies – lent by Anders - looked up, his brow furrowed with confusion, and he flinched at the elf's hard expression. "What-what happened to my skin? And where's my robe?" He held up an arm, which was raw and bright pink, and covered in a thick, greasy emulsion of some kind, as was the rest of him.

"Your _robe_ was incinerated," Fenris answered shortly, "and your skin is _sore_ because Anders had to scrub you from head to toe in a solution of lye."

"But…I don't…why-why would he do that?" Fletcher mumbled, looking hurt and befuddled.

Fenris drew a stinting, tautly-controlled breath. "_Because _you were foolish enough to walk through water which had been tainted by the darkspawn. Do you not remember?"

Fletcher blinked several times, his thought processes torpid after Anders's sleep spell. He concentrated as best he could, but could only offer a shrug in response, his mind a blank.

Exasperated, Fenris turned his back on Fletcher and huffed. "And what about the ogre? Do you remember _that_?"

"Ogre?" Fletcher's brow creased further, and then it smoothed, his face slackening as fleeting images of fire and darkness swept through his mind. "Maker…you-you fell! Are you all right?"

Panicked, Fletcher hastened to stand but was prevented from doing so by Fenris's command. "Sit down!" ordered the elf irately. "You are _supposed_ to be resting!"

Fletcher slumped, hanging his head, and Fenris groaned, regretting his harsh tone, but his guilt did little to quell his anger. "What were you thinking?" he demanded, his voice quieter but no less condemning. "You could have killed yourself!"

"I couldn't…I wasn't going to let it hurt you-"

"You should not have endangered yourself for my sake!" snapped the elf, his voice quaking. "I am not worth losing your life over!"

"What? Now, just a minute!" protested Fletcher, his confusion giving way to his own anger. "You're not _worth _it? What kind of talk is that? I would have done anything to protect you, and you would have done the same for me!"

"_I_ would not have taken such a senseless risk! I gave you my word that I would not endanger myself needlessly!"

"Well I _didn't _give my word!" Fletcher retorted, before the last of his fight left him and he closed his eyes, shaking his head, resigned to whatever Fenris had to throw at him. Fenris, however, failed to answer, his posture matching Fletcher's.

"Are you all right?" Fletcher quietly asked after a fraught moment.

"I'm _fine_." Fenris released a gusting sigh and paced back and forth. "How-how do _you _feel?"

"Oh, I feel all _kinds_ of things. Stupid, sore, _angry_; the usual, you know?"

"Angry?" asked Fenris, taken aback at Fletcher's sniping tone. "Why are you angry?"

"Did _you_ know about the ogre?" Fletcher demanded.

Another minute of silence passed between them, before Fenris exhaled and cast his eyes to the ground. "Yes. I knew."

"Right. And don't you think it might have been nice for you to tell me? Or for Anders to tell me? So, you know, it wasn't such a horrendous shock for me? Just a thought, you know."

Guilt overcame Fenris's anger and he folded his hands across his belly, looking Fletcher in the eyes. "Anders decided it would be better for you not to know. I agreed with him. In hindsight, it would appear that we were gravely mistaken. Knowing how your brother met his end, we _should _have warned you. No. _I _should have warned you. This-this is my fault."

"Oh, Fen…" Fletcher sat up a little and rested his head against the stone wall. "Look at us. We can't even argue properly anymore."

"I do not think it appropriate for you to make _jokes_ after you almost died," Fenris replied tersely.

"I wasn't joking," said Fletcher sadly. "When Torbal brought that rope up without you attached to it, I thought _you _were dead. In that moment, I _knew_ I'd failed to protect you. Just like I failed to protect Carver. When I heard about the ogre…I just…lost it. I'm sorry. I can't imagine how frightened you must have been to see me like that."

A low sigh came from Fenris, and he moved over to Fletcher, sitting beside him. "Talk to me," the elf encouraged.

Fletcher glanced at the elf and rubbed his face with his hands, wincing as he touched the tender skin. "He scrubbed my face as well?"

Fenris nodded. "He feared that you had taken in the taint. He was…thorough."

"You're telling _me_," Fletcher griped, pulling his borrowed braies away from his inflamed groin.

"I held a towel over that part of you," Fenris assured him. "To ensure there was no…impropriety." A faint, wry upturn of one edge of Fenris's mouth immediately put Fletcher at ease, until he remembered that Fenris had killed the emissary.

"What about _you_?" he asked nervously. "The emissary…you-you got its blood all over you!"

"Thankfully, my armour protected me," answered Fenris, looking at his bare hands. "The downside is that my gauntlets and cuirass have had to be discarded. Anders told me that tainted water is one thing, but tainted blood is quite another. He would not take any chances. Losing part of my armour is a small price to pay," he conceded with a shrug.

"So you're safe?" Fletcher asked anxiously.

"I believe so, yes. And, it would seem, so are you. Anders examined your body for contusions and found none. You were _very_ fortunate," he said sternly.

Not wishing to be drawn into another argument, Fletcher evaded Fenris's valid point. "Your cuirass? But that means-"

"Yes. Aveline will have my intestinal tract for stockings."

"Guts for garters."

"I…beg your pardon?"

"She'll have your gutsfor garters. That's how we said it in Ferelden, anyway."

"Fair enough," commented Fenris, "but I believe _my_ version to be wittier."

"You _would_." Fletcher tentatively reached for Fenris's hand, and the elf held it loosely, not wanting to cause Fletcher pain. "I wouldn't worry, Fen; I doubt Aveline is the kind of girl who wears stockings _or _garters, anyway."

"I suspect you are correct." Fenris smiled faintly, inching closer to Fletcher, and he glanced down at his leggings. "My clothing also had to be destroyed; now, I have no spares to change into."

"Lucky you don't wear pants then, isn't it?"

"It is, indeed." Fenris leaned back against the rock and sighed. "You raised an interesting point earlier: our arguments _are _woefully short-lived these days, aren't they?"

"But that's good…isn't it?" Fletcher queried.

Fenris nodded. "Yes. I do not enjoy arguing with you. Not anymore."

"Nor do I," Fletcher said softly, "Even though I sometimes give you good reason to argue with me."

"Why did you do it?" Fenris asked in a reasonable tone. "What was in your mind?"

"I just…" Fletcher leaned forward, staring ahead, and he shook his head before leaning back against the wall. "I've had something on my mind, which I should have told you about, but didn't. It-it's nothing sinister; I mean, I haven't been keeping anything from you. Well, I have, but not in that way. I…oh, shut up, Fletcher, and talk some sense."

"Take your time," Fenris murmured. "There is no rush." He frowned, then, as a thought occurred to him. "Fletcher, is it connected with…your father?"

Fletcher's head snapped round to face the elf, and his mouth fell open. "You…how did you know that?" he asked, astonished.

"I recall speaking with your sister when we were at the Dalish camp; the night you told me…" He cleared his throat and straightened up. "She said that your father died shortly after your naming day. I have always remembered, in case you needed to…unburden yourself when the time came."

"You…really?" Deeply touched by Fenris's thoughtfulness and compassion, Fletcher's lower lip wobbled.

"No more _weeping_," Fenris commanded, his tone conveying remonstration and a sliver of amusement. "You cannot blame the lyrium this time."

"Saw through my excuses, eh?" Fletcher whispered, his eyes shining with unshed tears as he gave Fenris a thin, but genuine smile.

"Always." Fenris gave Fletcher's hand a gentle squeeze. "Talk to me. Unburden your troubles."

"Th-thank you." Fletcher was silent for a while as he gathered his thoughts, and both men looked up when Sheldon thoughtfully brought over a cup of tea for them, before leaving them alone. Fletcher blew on his tea and took a few sips before he began.

"I'd had Father on my mind, yes; Carver, as well. When Anders told me that he sensed darkspawn, I feared that we'd run into an ogre. I didn't know what I'd do if I faced another one. I thought…I thought that I'd come to terms with losing Carver, thought I'd forgiven myself, but there will always be something, deep down…a part of me that will always blame myself for his death."

"Like you blamed yourself for Dalton's?" ventured Fenris, determined that Fletcher would get everything off his chest.

"Yes." Fletcher hung his head and took a deep breath.

"And…do you blame yourself for your father's death?"

"No," Fletcher said decisively. "Although at the time, I was hard on myself because I wasn't _with_ him when he died." Fletcher sighed and looked at his and Fenris's hands, their fingers intertwined. "They said it was his heart…I wouldn't have been able to save him, I know that now. He-he fell in the fields one day, while working. Huh. Carver found a way to blame me for that, as well. The bastard."

"The fields?" A sudden surge of heat through Fenris's gut sent his breath rushing out, and Fletcher touched his arm, troubled by the elf's reaction and strained tone of voice.

"Fen? What is it? What's wrong?"

"I…don't know." Fenris's eyes widened as unease was carved deeply onto his brow. "When you mentioned the fields…I-I saw something. I…think."

"Close your eyes," Fletcher said quickly. "Don't let it slip away. Concentrate!"

"It's gone-" Fenris began.

"No, you have to think!" Fletcher urged firmly, clasping Fenris's arms. "This is important, Fenris! What did you see? _Think_!"

Fenris shook his head, panic in his eyes as his breathing quickened. "No…I can't…"

"Yes, you _can_! Come on! The Fenris I know doesn't just give up!"

Fletcher looked on in dismay as Fenris bit his lower lip, his eyes darting left and right, his shoulders heaving. Fearing he'd pushed Fenris too far, he loosened his grip on the elf and softened his voice. "Fenris, I'm sorry. Please…let's just forget it. I'm sorry, love."

"There-there was an elf," Fenris communicated, his voice quaking. "In the fields. He looked like…his-his _eyes_…"

"What about his eyes? Who did he look like?" Fletcher asked gently, his stomach churning.

Wordlessly, Fenris released Fletcher's hand and pushed to his feet, his back to the mage as he shook his head. "I'm sorry," he uttered thickly. "I…we will speak later. I must…" Fenris looked back at Fletcher, not wanting to leave him but needing to be alone; almost asking permission with his eyes.

Fletcher struggled to his feet, accepting Fenris's proffered hand. "Go on," murmured Fletcher, nodding ahead. "We'll speak later. You know I'll always be here."

Fenris closed his eyes, dipping his head, and quietly exited the chamber, taking refuge in a quiet place not far from Fletcher and the others.

"What was that about?" Anders asked from behind Fletcher, having approached him after Fenris had left. "And why are you standing up? You should be sitting down."

There it was again: the same biting irritation that had taken hold of Fletcher in the lyrium chamber. Why was he still angry with Anders? He turned around, not sure if he was concealing it well, and not sure if he cared, either.

"Anders." Fletcher looked at the rest of the group, who were preparing supper. "When everyone's eaten, we'll set off immediately."

"Out of the question!" Anders laughed derisively, his hand slicing through the air, and he noticed the flare of Fletcher's nostrils, the tension in his shoulders. "You're still not well, Hawke. Both you _and _Fenris need more rest."

"No! I'm _sick_ of this blasted place!" bristled Fletcher, anger rising up into his gullet as burning acid.

"We all are, Fletcher," answered Anders smoothly, choosing his words carefully.

"Don't use your healer's voice on _me_," Fletcher bit back. "It won't work."

"Sorry," said Anders, his voice reverting to normal as he held back a sigh. "Hawke…you know that we can't leave, yet. Fenris was also injured, remember?"

"I know he was bloody injured! Are you saying I don't _care_ about Fenris, Anders?"

"You know I'm not saying that. You _love_ him. And that's why you know he – no, both of you – _have_ to rest. He loves you as well, and he'd be upset to see you suffering. You _know _this, Hawke; you're not stupid."

Fletcher gaped at Anders, his fellow mage's disarming words taking effect, and his heart sank into his boots, worried for Fenris and feeling wretched for delaying the expedition. "Anders…I-I don't know what's wrong with me," he blurted. "I feel angry with you and I don't know why. Maker, you saved my life…I don't like this; it-it's a horrible feeling, like I'm out of control."

Relieved, Anders exhaled and moved closer to Fletcher. "I've been there, Hawke. The Deep Roads is a place I've tried very hard to forget. _Any_ mage is going to suffer down here. It was Oghren, with me," he said with a fond smile.

"Who? What do you-"

"The one I fixated on; the one I blamed everything on," Anders explained. "He was the mastermind behind the plot to _assassinate_ me," he said ruefully. "Ha, if you'd known Oghren, you'd know that 'mastermind' is a contradiction in terms. He took it all on the chin, though; it just gave him more ammunition when I did come to my senses. I was known as 'Crazy Ol' Sparklefingers' from then on. Or 'Sparky the Nutjob', when he was in a more erudite mood."

"You mean…?" Fletcher began.

"I've been through it, Hawke. Look, I don't mind if you take your anger out on me; I know it's not real."

"But…I don't want to," Fletcher mumbled, thoroughly ashamed of himself.

"I'm glad it's me, really," said Anders with a shrug. "I _understand_. If it had been one of the dwarves, you might be short a bollock or two by now. And _that's _because they like you."

Varric moved closer to the mages, clutching a book to his side. "Ah, Varric!" Anders exclaimed brightly. "I believe you wanted to interview the hero of the hour?"

"Yeah, I do, Blondie, so stop cutting into my writing time and step aside."

"You-you want to _what_?" a confused Fletcher stammered.

"Don't keep him too long," Anders ordered.

"Yeah, yeah." Varric made a 'yap yap' gesture with his hand behind Anders's back and pushed in between the mages, steering Fletcher back to his little corner. "Siddown, Hawke," he invited, and Fletcher complied without arguing, though his eyes wandered over to where Fenris had exited.

Varric snapped his fingers in front of Fletcher's face and sat down next to his friend. "So," he said without preamble, opening his book. "When you were breathing fire at the ogre…"

"What? I-I wasn't-"

"_Details_, Hawke. Nothing but trifling details. When this story is read in a few ages' time, do you really think the reader will _care _where the fire came from? Nah, so long as the fire's in there _somewhere_, it's not a lie, is it? Now, are you gonna help me write this story, or do I enlist the _pirate_ to help me? You know how _that _would end up. You, she and the elf would wind up in a Rivaini sandwich while the ogre looked on…_touching _itself."

"Varric!" Fletcher exclaimed, an incredulous laugh rushing out of him.

"_Exactly_," Varric said with an intense look at the mage, who noticed Sebastian discreetly slipping out of the chamber. "Hawke?" Varric prompted, and Fletcher, comforted that Fenris would have some company, looked at the dwarf, slightly more alert. "When you were breathing fire at the ogre…?"

Fletcher sighed, grateful to Varric for attempting to lift his spirits, and played along. "When I was breathing fire at the ogre," he started, and Varric waited, quill poised at the ready, for the mage to continue.

~o~O~o~

Merrill hummed softly to herself as she used the finely-bristled brush to loosen the more stubborn of the cobwebs. Today was a good day; at last, she'd succeeded in doing what they thought she couldn't. Now the clan _had _to take notice of her. No longer would they fear or ridicule her. They would _finally_ understand!

Yes, today was a _very_ good day.

"Got you, you little scamp!" she said to the cobweb, poking out her tongue as she reduced it to a tiny tube of silk between finger and thumb. She resumed her delicate work, as well as her humming, only to be interrupted by a quiet knock at her door.

Carefully placing the brush down, she stood up and examined the Eluvian for a while, before she was distracted by a second, louder knock. Blinking, she walked over to the door. "Aren't I the popular one today?" she asked aloud. This would be her second caller today; the first had delivered the mystical Dalish artefact to her home.

Opening the door, she gasped; Hawke's mother was standing right there, on her doorstep! A proper lady, all posh and everything, and her place was _such_ a mess!

"Oh! I-It's Hawke's…um…Leand…no. Um…I-I'm not sure what's proper. Rats." Taking a deep breath, she straightened up and plastered a dignified, calm expression across her face. She was good at that, and it in no way made her look like she was bursting for a wee. Hopping from foot to foot _was_ considered dignified among humans, wasn't it?

"My dear, you must call me Leandra; I told you that the last time we met," said the posh lady kindly, moving the small basket she carried from one arm to the other.

"Oh, I know, but that was a while back, and I didn't want to be impolite or anything…um, well, it's nice to see you…Leandra," she said with a giggle, realising with consternation that she really _did _need a wee, now.

"And it's very nice to see you, as well," answered the nice lady. "Merrill, I do hate to impose myself on you, but would it be all right if I came in? It is raining rather heavily."

Merrill's face coloured as if she'd been struck and she jumped back, frantically ushering Leandra in. "I'm so sorry!" she cried, her stomach turning over. "What's wrong with me? I-I'm just not used to having visitors. Come on, there's a chair next to the fire." She led Leandra over to her meagre fire before rushing into the back room, returning with a large towel.

"Tea?" she offered, thrusting the towel into Leandra's hands.

"That would be lovely, Merrill. But please don't go to any trouble for me."

"Oh, it's no trouble at all." Merrill's face dropped then, and she once again affected her dignified, solemn expression, belied by her burning cheeks. "I think I've just realised. I don't actually _have_ any tea."

Smiling, Leandra reached into her basket and produced a couple of small wrapped packages. "Fletcher told you me you drink so much tea you're constantly running out," she said tactfully, and handed Merrill the items. "We have far too much at home, so I thought I'd bring you some. I also baked too many cakes," she finished with a twinkle in her eye.

By the time Merrill had sufficiently thanked Leandra and finally got round to making the tea, almost half an hour had passed, and Merrill brought in cake and a house-shaped teapot on a tray, only to find Leandra examining the Eluvian.

"Oh! Don't touch that!" Merrill shrieked in panic, and clapped a hand over her mouth, almost dropping the tray as Leandra recoiled from the broken mirror. "I didn't mean…I'm sorry I shouted."

"You didn't," answered Leandra politely. "What is this? It appears very old."

Merrill sighed, setting the tray down, and joined Leandra. "It's the Eluvian; an heirloom of my people. I wanted to fix it, so that the Dalish would have a piece of history," she explained proudly. "So much has been taken from us and all we have left are our stories. _This _is real, something that old men can tell their grandchildren about and then actually _show _them. It's very, very special."

Leandra detected sadness in Merrill's tone and she watched the Dalish elf thoughtfully as she gazed at the mirror. "Your people entrusted you to restore this, alone?" she ventured.

"Not _exactly_," Merrill replied awkwardly, twisting her fingers together. "They-they're not really as enthusiastic about it as I am." Pre-empting Leandra's next question, she shrugged. "They say it's…evil. All right, I know that something bad happened a while ago. But that was because it was tainted by the darkspawn. I've cleansed it, now."

"Oh, Merrill," Leandra said with concern, "I do hope you aren't involved in anything dangerous."

"It's _not _dangerous," Merrill insisted. "I purified it with a spell, and it's completely safe. That's what my clan doesn't understand."

"How did you purify it?" asked Leandra curiously. "I've never heard of a spell that would remove the taint."

"I had to use blood magic for that," Merrill whispered.

"Oh…I…didn't realise," Leandra murmured quietly, her eyes moving to the door.

"My clan doesn't approve of it, but you would probably understand, what with your son and everything," continued Merrill, too late to register the alarm on Leandra's face.

"Fletcher? What does _he_ have to do with blood magic?" demanded Leandra, and Merrill gulped, breaking out in a cold sweat as it finally dawned on her that Fletcher had not told his mother.

"Oh, I didn't mean…I-I meant because he's also a mage. Y-yes, a mage. Bethany, too. Th-that's all I meant…um…"

Leandra paused momentarily before she gracefully moved over to the chair and returned the damp towel to Merrill. "Well, I must be heading for home. Thank you for having me, Merrill."

"B-but your tea…"

"I'm frightfully sorry, Merrill, but I've just remembered an errand I must attend to," said Leandra, heading for the door without looking at Merrill, her tone of voice perfectly measured and civil. "Oh, yes…the reason I came to see you in the first place was to warn you that the templars are on the prowl. Be careful. And thank you again."

"I will," Merrill whispered, crushed, as Leandra closed the door behind her. With trembling hands, she placed the towel down on her rickety table and took a few shaky breaths in an unsuccessful attempt to calm herself. "Oh, Creators!" she squeaked breathlessly, tears spilling down her cheeks. "May the Trickster take me! What have I _done_? I have to-I have to put this right!"

Not giving herself time to think, she threw a few items of clothing into a small bag, along with the rest of Leandra's cake, and fled the house, her tears washed away by the driving rain as she ran through the streets.

Today was _not_ such a good day, after all.

~o~O~o~

Fletcher was still 'assisting' Varric with his account of the darkspawn fight when Sebastian re-entered the chamber, his eyes searching. When they met Fletcher's, the archer raised his chin a little, indicating that Fletcher join him.

"Excuse me, Varric; I'll be back later. Just carry on without me." With a helpful nudge from the dwarf, Fletcher shakily got to his feet, surprised at how weak he still felt, and meandered over to Sebastian.

"I believe he would welcome your company, Hawke," Sebastian told him with a nod down a small tunnel; the glow of Fenris's torch was barely visible at the end of it.

"Thank you for talking to him," said Fletcher, and Sebastian shook his head.

"I didn't, much. I merely sat with him. After a while, he asked if I would send you in."

"Well, thank you anyway. You're a good friend to him."

"To you both." Sebastian turned and walked away, Fletcher's anxious smile following him. With a sigh, he started down the tunnel, coming to a halt when he found the elf, who sat on a small rocky ledge, one hand hanging between his knees, the other braced against his thigh.

"Hello, Fen." Fletcher joined him on the ledge, first testing to see if it would hold his weight.

Fenris looked at Fletcher and smiled with his eyes only, before his gaze moved to the ground. "I owe you an apology. _Another _one."

"Whatever you imagine you need to apologise to me for, you don't. Trust me." Fletcher reached for one of Fenris's hands and brought it to his mouth, gently kissing it.

This time, the smile gently curved Fenris's lips, and he began to move Fletcher's hand to his own mouth, but he hesitated, his smile quickly fading. "I had no right…you were confiding in me about your father. Whatever it is I _thought _I saw, I should not have interrupted you, taken off like that. I am utterly selfish. _Please_, Fletcher…continue. I give you my word I will _not _abandon you again. I am deeply sorry for my actions."

"Selfish?" Fletcher snorted and brought his and Fenris's hands to rest against his thigh. "Look. My father died eleven years ago. What happened earlier, well, happened earlier. You had every right to be upset. We can speak of my father another time. I want to know what you saw. This is the first thing you've been able to recall clearly, Fen; this is _massive_."

Fenris looked up, his eyes slowly moving to Fletcher's, an unspoken question in them.

"Please," Fletcher prompted. "The elf you saw…who did he look like?"

"He looked like…me," confessed Fenris; despite his reluctance to burden Fletcher, he was in fact desperate to speak. "Only…older."

Fletcher released Fenris's hand and wrapped his arm around the elf's slender shoulders. "Do you think he may be your father?" he asked softly.

"I don't know," answered Fenris, quiet and uncertain.

"Describe him for me."

Fenris swallowed and squeezed his eyes closed, furiously concentrating. "Dark hair…the colour of treacle, with streaks of grey at the temples. Green eyes, identical to my own…it's almost as though I'm seeing myself, several years in the future."

"And what's he doing?" Fletcher asked, stroking Fenris's shoulder.

"He is looking at me…he's holding an implement of some kind. A sickle?" Fenris opened his eyes and frowned deeply, before his eyes closed again. "I am uncertain."

"And what else do you see?"

A long pause followed, and Fenris sighed, shaking his head. He then straightened up and opened his eyes, staring ahead. "Wait…the sun. It's a sunny day." A pained smile came across Fenris's face, and a noise similar to – but not quite - a laugh burst out of him. Seeing tears in the elf's eyes, Fletcher pulled him close and placed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

"I know this is difficult, Fen, but you must try to remember. Every little detail you can."

"Help me?" asked Fenris. "Keep asking questions. They…seem to help."

"I'll ask questions all night if needs be, dearest one," answered Fletcher, and Fenris, humbled and touched by Fletcher's care, took the mage's hand and returned his kiss. "Now," Fletcher prompted. "What was he wearing?"

More determined, Fenris nodded and once again closed his eyes.


	64. Chapter 64

_Due to various reasons, this is the last time any of my stories will be updated on this site. I will continue to update on AO3, link below:_

_archiveofourown dot org / works / 223829 / chapters / 70408 (remove spaces)_

_I'd like to extend my sincere thanks to Haggardjax, Aynslesa and David9999 for their encouragement and support throughout, and to Shaina for her kindness, as well as to those of you who have left reviews._

~o~O~o~

The next few days' travel through the Deep Roads came as a pleasant surprise to the group after the hardships they'd recently endured. The going was relatively easy with only a few narrow tunnels and one small gully to negotiate; the remainder of their path took them through large, open chambers which were streaked with the 'new' lyrium they'd discovered. Sadly, though, there were very few places where Fletcher and Fenris could enjoy true privacy.

The twosome had recovered from their injuries and no longer slowed the group's progress; in fact, Fletcher reported a sense of physical well-being he hadn't felt since first entering the Deep Roads. He was still on the jittery side, however, and had occasionally snapped at Anders but quickly apologised; Anders took this in his stride and seemed to draw strength from his continued care of his fellow mage. On the third day of travel away from the lyrium tunnel, and, much to Fenris's pleasure, Fletcher's laughter – something that had not been heard for a while – once again filled the chambers they walked through; Fenris even endured some mild teasing with a full heart.

During private moments, Fletcher and Fenris had discussed the elf's recent memory of who they suspected was his father. Fletcher had continued to coax more details out of Fenris, but they'd reached an impasse: Fenris simply could not recall anything further than he'd already stated. Fletcher found it encouraging, however, that Fenris had been willing to discuss it at all, and had asked Fenris if he'd be interested in trying to remember other things, with Fletcher's help. Fenris had fallen quiet, then, and had promised to think about it, saying no more on the matter. Fletcher had not mentioned it since.

Anders and Fletcher had conducted several tests on the new lyrium, finding no discernible differences between it and the more familiar type of lyrium they'd found in the tunnel. Varric had followed their research with interest, finding their results encouraging. He stood over the two mages as they experimented with powdered and liquefied versions of their new discovery, leaping back as Fletcher set a small pile of powder alight, producing a burst of flame, before it settled and lowered.

"Hey! Watch the eyebrows, Hawke!" he protested.

Ignoring him, Fletcher gasped and nudged Anders, who was crushing some ingredients in a mortar. "Anders, look at this!" he exclaimed excitedly, pointing at the pale violet flame.

"Ah! I think we've found our difference," Anders said, shuffling closer for a better look. "Ordinary lyrium burns with a white flame," he explained for Varric's benefit.

"Are you saying this stuff's flammable?" asked Varric, glancing around nervously. "Are we safe to light fires in here?"

"Yes, of course," replied Fletcher, inviting Varric to sit next to them. "I added some other agents to the powder to make it combustible."

"Oh, I knew that," Varric claimed with an easy laugh as he sat next to the mages. "So, what does a purple flame mean?"

"I'm not sure," Fletcher answered, and Anders, also uncertain, shrugged. "We're going to have to break it down into its component parts and conduct further tests on each component. Isn't it exciting?"

"Sure," muttered Varric flatly, stifling a yawn. He then leaned closer to Fletcher and whispered, "Are we gonna be able to sell this stuff or not?"

This time, both mages shrugged. "So far, it appears to be identical to ordinary lyrium," Anders explained, "but something sets it apart, and we need to know what that _something_ is. We can't sell it if it's unsafe."

"We're guessing that this particular lyrium is much older than the rest of it," Fletcher added. "Not one section we've examined has so much as a chip in it; it's perfectly smooth, like it's never been touched."

Anders produced his maps, pointing to the section they were in. "From the previously-uncharted section to the exit in the Planasene Forest _is _mapped, but look around; there's no old camping equipment here, no bits of wood for fires, no anything, in fact. In all preceding chambers, we've found some evidence that others have travelled through or camped there. I'd say this part of the Deep Roads hasn't been explored for a very long time, if ever, unless those that came down here were particularly tidy."

"Or didn't want anyone to know they were here," Varric supplied, raising his eyebrows.

Anders and Fletcher looked at each other, and Anders frowned. "The only ones who _would_ have been down here at any time are the wardens or the darkspawn. I wonder if the wardens know about the 'new' lyrium as well?"

"Don't _you _know, being a warden?" Fletcher asked, and was surprised at Anders's loud burst of laughter.

"Hawke, I'm the warden equivalent of that annoying acquaintance you haven't seen for years, who, when you bump into him, you nod politely and exchange pleasantries but all the time you're looking for an escape. And when you're finally rid of him, you go and slag him off to all your friends and have a good laugh at his expense. The bloody _wardens _wouldn't tell _me_ what time it is."

"Don't mince your words, Blondie," joked Varric. "Listen, I don't care who, if anyone, knows about the lyrium. No one has attempted to mine it, or has laid claim to it. If the wardens know about it, they blew their chance. It's _ours_."

"It might be ours, but we still need to know if it's safe," Fletcher warned, laughing at the dwarf's disappointed expression. "Now toddle off and let us get on with our work," he said with a grin.

Varric huffed and pushed himself to his feet. "Fine. But if it's bad news, I don't wanna know. Tell it to Bartrand and _lie _to me, okay?"

"Through my teeth," Fletcher averred with a wave at the dwarf, who was walking away, shaking his head.

"Let's take a break from this," suggested Anders, and Fletcher stretched his arms, nodding his agreement. "How about we discuss Fenris? Although I don't really know where to start. Do you know much about the markings? How they got there?"

Fletcher sighed and leaned back on his hands, crossing his ankles. "The markings weren't supposed to be there; the lyrium procedure went wrong, and the markings were the result. _Fenris _was an experiment, as well, just like this lyrium."

Frowning, Anders nodded slowly and waited for Fletcher to continue, guessing it would not be easy for him to talk about.

"I don't know how he did it, but Danarius injected lyrium into Fenris's veins and then boiled it using magic. The aim was to burn it into Fenris's blood vessels," he recited with bitterness in his voice, seeing Anders's mouth fall open from the corner of his eye. "Fenris was _conscious_ during this, by the way."

"W-what?" Anders gasped, his voice trailing to a whisper. Both men were silent for a moment before Fletcher continued.

"The trauma to his body caused several of his blood vessels to collapse or disintegrate, which in turn caused the boiling lyrium to break through to his skin."

"And that's what caused the markings?" Anders asked, receiving no response from Fletcher, who was staring into space. "Maker! I can't even…" Anders placed his hand over his coat above where the templars had branded him and touched Fletcher's arm, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Yes, that's what caused the markings," replied Fletcher, noticing that Anders had placed his hand over his chest. "Maybe now you can see why Fenris was so distrustful of mages when we first met, just like you distrust – hate – the templars. Both of you were held against your will and both of you were abused, tortured, and made to feel like nothing. _Now_ do you see, Anders?"

Anders's hand slowly moved away from his chest and he rested both hands in his lap, his brow creased. "These markings," he began quietly, "have you had a good look at them?"

"I haven't examinedthem, if that's what you mean. To be honest, I'm afraid to touch them for fear of hurting him. He's in constant pain because of them. He _did _tell me it wouldn't hurt if I touched them, but he might have said that to reassure me. I…have touched them, but only briefly."

"Do you think he'd consent to an examination, Hawke? From you, I mean; I doubt he'd want _me_ gawking at him," Anders said airily, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yes, I think he'd let me," said Fletcher thoughtfully. "What do you want me to look for?"

"Anything; everything. What sets the markings apart from the unaffected skin? _Are _there any parts of him that don't have the markings? Not that I mean to be personal or anything."

"The soles of his feet are unmarked, but, because he went barefoot for so long, the skin there is incredibly tough. The upper part of his face, the nape of his neck, plus a few other areas are unmarked."

"Does he have markings on his shoulders?" Anders asked, and Fletcher nodded. "I'd concentrate on the nape of his neck, then; you'd have the marked skin and the unmarked skin close to each other."

Fletcher shook his head. "He wouldn't like me doing that."

Anders frowned a little, but decided not to ask why, suspecting the answer might not be a pleasant one. "What about the soles of his feet, then? Are there markings on his legs?"

"There are markings on the upper part of his feet, ankles and all the way up his legs."

"Well, could you remove the hard skin? Might make walking a bit more comfortable for him as well. Kill two birds with one stone."

"I could, couldn't I?" Fletcher said, a smile slowly forming. He searched his pack and produced a small knife and a couple of pots of ointment. "Great idea, Anders. I'll be back a bit later."

Fletcher stood up, and Anders picked up his mortar and pestle. "I'll carry on with this, then." Fletcher nodded and turned away. "I…might have been wrong," Anders admitted quietly, and Fletcher turned around. "…About Fenris, I mean." He shrugged casually and started to pound the ingredients.

"We all make mistakes, Anders," Fletcher said warmly, and squeezed his friend's shoulder before leaving him to his work.

After much searching, he found Fenris in a secluded niche off the main chamber, where he was feeding stale biscuits to Tufty and Sprinkles, Bethany's book on Ferelden lying next to him.

"Having fun?" Fletcher grinned, and Fenris, startled by the mage's appearance, sat up straight and shooed the nugs away.

"You have had enough for today," he told them sternly. "Be off."

"Fenris," Fletcher said lightly as he sat next to the elf. "Drop the meanie act. You're not fooling anyone."

Fenris's eyes slowly moved to Fletcher's, and Fenris attempted his most menacing expression, but in truth he was so relieved that Fletcher was more himself, he couldn't maintain it, and his mask slipped. "It is no act," he claimed, tossing the rest of the scraps onto the ground, and the nugs wasted no time in devouring them. "I am as mean as they come."

"Riiiight," Fletcher drawled with a wink. Fenris shook his head, smiling with his eyes, and he pushed himself up a little more, stretching his back.

"I made a discovery this morning," Fenris declared, and pointed at Sprinkles. "Call to him."

"Sprinkles!" Fletcher called in a sing-song voice, but as usual, the nug ignored him, as he ignored everyone. Fletcher tried again in a more commanding voice, but to no avail.

"Watch this," said Fenris, and he tapped the ground next to his leg several times. To Fletcher's astonishment, Sprinkles turned around and looked in their direction. Fenris tapped the ground a few more times, and Sprinkles walked over to him and sniffed his hand.

"How did you do that?" asked Fletcher, laughing in amazement.

"I trained him."

"When?" Fletcher asked sceptically.

"I did not really train him," Fenris smiled. "No, I have suspected for some time that he cannot hear me."

"What, you think he's deaf?"

"I believe so." Fenris then tapped the ground on his opposite side, and Sprinkles leapt over his legs and started sniffing his other hand. "See? He feels the vibrations when I strike the ground."

"What a clever little elf you are!" Fletcher exclaimed, ruffling Fenris's hair, and was surprised at the strength of the shove that sent him onto his side.

"Cute, as well," he added, slowly sitting back up with a glance at the two nugs who were now snuggling next to Fenris's legs.

"I am _not _cute," insisted Fenris, unable to keep the amusement from his voice as he smoothed his hair into place. He was so delighted to see the smiling, teasing Fletcher again that he found it difficult to maintain his cool façade for long, at least in front of Fletcher.

"No, not much." Fletcher flashed a cheeky grin at the elf and took his hand, placing it on his lap. "Fen? Anders and I have been talking…about your markings. I'd like to examine them, if you'd be comfortable with that."

Fenris grunted quietly and nodded. "What are you looking for?"

"I'm not sure. To be honest, Anders and I don't know what we're dealing with. You're a non-mage who is somehow connected to the Fade in a way that other non-mages aren't, if that makes sense. Neither of us has heard of such a thing; it shouldn't even be possible. We need as much information at our disposal as possible; an examination is the first and most basic step. A beginning."

"I will co-operate in any way I can; after all, you are doing this for my benefit. Where would you like to examine me?"

"Fen, before we start, I want you to know that I can't make any promises. I don't want to give you false hope."

Fenris cocked his head and smiled in the lopsided way that Fletcher loved. "The fact that you are even _willing_ to help me is heartening. I do not expect miracles. I will do whatever I can to assist. Both of you."

Fletcher's hand brushed Fenris's cheek and he gently kissed the elf's lips. "If it's within our power, we'll help you, as well. Now…let's have a look at those feet of yours."

"Ever the romantic, I see," remarked Fenris dryly, wiggling his toes as Fletcher shuffled towards his feet. "How can I resist a request like that?"

"I'll have you know I'm _very_ romantic," Fletcher grinned, removing Fenris's slippers and giving one of them a long, deep sniff. "Aah…shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"

"I stand corrected," Fenris choked out between peals of laughter. Fletcher placed the slipper down and watched, his heart singing, until Fenris had regained control. "Fletcher," Fenris murmured, wiping his eyes. "I have missed you. Sorely."

"I know." Fletcher clasped one of Fenris's feet and stared down at it, sighing heavily. "I want you to know how sorry I am-"

"No." Fenris leaned forward and reached out, brushing a stray curl off Fletcher's cheek. "None of that. Life is too short, dear Fletcher."

"_Dear Fletcher_. I like that." A halting smile quickly bloomed into a fully-fledged simper, and Fletcher hung his head, feeling heat rise into his cheeks.

"Then henceforth that is how I will address you," Fenris said softly. "Dear Fletcher."

"In company, as well?" Fletcher asked cheekily, his head snapping up.

"When the sun and the moon rise together, perhaps. Until then, not a _chance_."

"Fair enough. And henceforth I will call you Fen-Fe-"

"_Not _if you value your life, you won't."

"Huh." Fletcher pouted and again stared down at Fenris's unclad foot. "I take back what I said earlier. You _are _mean. As mean as a dragon who's just lost his job, his wife has run off with the dragon next door, and he's just got really, really drunk and is itching for a scrap. And he's got really bad piles, as well."

"Then all is well in the world," Fenris drawled, his eyes alight with mirth.

"I see," sniffed Fletcher, feigning hurt. "All professional. I get it." He reached for his small knife and held it next to Fenris's foot, clearing his throat dramatically. "Messere Elf, I am going to give you a foot job. Let's see how _professional_ you are after that."

"A foot job? What does that mean?" asked Fenris, frowning warily at the knife.

"Oh, it's purely for research purposes. But I can't promise that you won't be a drooling, babbling mess by the end of it."

"Why?" Fenris asked suspiciously.

"Have you never had a foot job and foot massage before?"

"_Obviously _not. Wait…foot _massage_?"

Nodding, Fletcher held one of Fenris's feet still, holding the knife in his other hand. "A drooling, babbling mess," he repeated with a disconcerting smile.

"Wait-" Fenris began hastily.

"Hold _still_," Fletcher reprimanded sternly. "Or I won't be held responsible for missing toes."

"Sadist," Fenris grumped.

"You won't be calling me _that_ when I get to the foot massage. Oh, _no_, ser. Now stay _still_."

Fenris watched with a doubtful sneer as Fletcher started chipping away at the tough skin on the soles of his feet, ensuring he did indeed keep them very still. After a while, the constant ache he'd felt in his feet – which had almost become like background noise over the years – eased, as did his sneer, and he stopped Fletcher a few times so he could flex his feet, his eyes lighting up when doing so didn't induce shooting pain in his heels.

"Better?" Fletcher asked.

"Yes…" Fenris sat up again as he'd started to slouch, and curled his toes first up, then down. "I feel the air on them. It's very pleasant." Fletcher laughed as a toothy grin lit up Fenris's face.

"The air on them? Like this?" Fletcher leaned down and gently blew on the arch of Fenris's foot, causing the elf to sharply retract his leg and squirm.

"Do not-do not do that!"

"Are you sure?"

Fenris slowly lined his feet back up, watching Fletcher carefully, and scratched his arch with the big toe of his other foot. "Not so…sudden," he uttered.

Grinning, Fletcher brought one of Fenris's feet close to his mouth. "Well, how about something like this, then?" Fletcher then licked his lips and softly pressed them against the inner arch of Fenris's foot, feeling a fine tremor travel down the elf's leg. Looking up, he noticed with satisfaction that Fenris's eyes were wide, his mouth slightly open.

"Again?" Fletcher whispered. His expression unchanged, Fenris's eyes fluttered closed as Fletcher once again lowered his lips.

"A-aren't you supposed to be examining-ah!" Fenris bit his lip to stifle a moan and reluctantly drew his foot away from Fletcher.

"And I thought you were enjoying that," said Fletcher with a mock pout.

"I-I was," Fenris answered breathlessly, his stomach fluttering. "Just…not here."

Fletcher glanced behind him, where conversation could be heard from the main chamber. "Well, at least let me massage your feet." He picked up one of his small pots and Fenris leaned forward, snatching it away with a smile.

"_I_ will apply the ointment. Thank you."

Fletcher lunged for Fenris's hand and a small grappling match ensued with possession of the massage balm as the prize. "Look, Messere Elf. _I'm _the healer and _I _am going to massage your feet."

"No, you're…not!" Fenris's slim, nimble fingers plucked the balm from Fletcher's hands and the elf pulled it tightly against his chest, still clutching it for dear life as Fletcher pounced on him, sending Fenris onto his back.

"Yes-I-am! Give it to me!" Fletcher laughed, leaning over Fenris and unsuccessfully grabbing at his hands. "Wait…" Fletcher looked down at Fenris's feet and grinned impishly. "Your feet are undefended, Messere Elf."

"No…have pity on me," Fenris chuckled quietly. "Not here. Please."

Fletcher's eyes moved back and forth between Fenris's feet and eyes, appearing to consider the elf's entreaty. "All right, you can keep the balm. But it'll cost you," he whispered, his eyes sparkling. "A kiss for the prize, Messere Elf."

Fenris's body relaxed but he did not relinquish his grip on the precious balm. "I would appear to be at your mercy, Messere Mage," he murmured as Fletcher's mouth hovered over his, but then Fletcher noticed his eyes dart toward the main chamber before settling back on him.

Exhaling quietly, Fletcher sat up and offered his hand to Fenris, who frowned as he let himself be pulled up.

"Fletcher?" he asked anxiously.

"I would forego even one of your sweet kisses for your comfort, dear Fenris."

Realising that Fletcher had noticed his reaction, Fenris felt a pang of guilt, which immediately showed in his eyes. "I'm sorry Fletcher," he began.

"Don't be." Fletcher took Fenris's hands, which were still wrapped around the balm, and brought them to his lips. "The balm is yours, love. The foot massage will have to be postponed. But you _will _have one, and that's a promise. No guilt. We know each other now, remember?"

"Yes, we do." With a faint smile, Fenris opened his hands, revealing the balm, and looked at Fletcher. "I would have foregone my comfort for your sweet kiss."

"But then it wouldn't have been sweet, Fen." Fletcher placed his hands over Fenris's and closed them around the balm. "It's yours." He released the elf's hands and stole a quick peck on the cheek before gesturing toward Fenris's feet.

"Thank you." Smiling, Fenris bent one leg, placing his foot over his knee, and slathered his foot with the mint-scented concoction.

"Sensitive feet," Fletcher muttered just loudly enough for Fenris to hear. "Duly noted…for research purposes." He passed Fenris a small cloth to remove the excess ointment and their eyes met briefly. "When we're out of here, Fen, and when we're truly alone, I'm going to give you the night of your life."

Fenris looked away, and distracted himself by scratching Tufty's ear. "I…look forward to that."

"That makes two of us."

A lull took the conversation while Fletcher watched Fenris massage the balm into his feet. When he'd finished, he returned the pot to Fletcher, who pocketed it and moved down to Fenris's feet.

"If it helps with your research…I also have sensitive ears," Fenris murmured, and Fletcher grinned broadly.

"I did notice that before. It's all tucked away up here." He tapped his temple. "Any other sensitive areas I should know about? Besides the obvious?"

Fenris snorted softly and held one foot up while Fletcher began a proper examination. "Until you and I had been together, I did not know of _any _sensitive areas. Perhaps…we will discover more in time?"

Fletcher smiled and kissed the top of Fenris's big toe. "You can count on that. Now stop talking smutty and let me examine your foot. Honestly, some elves have one-track minds."

"But you were the one…" Fletcher burst out laughing at Fenris's look of annoyance and the elf shook his head, smiling as he rolled his eyes.

"Now, let's see…" Fletcher's expression grew serious and he gently trailed his fingers along Fenris's heel and ankle. "May I?" he asked when he reached the markings.

"Of course."

Fletcher ran one finger lightly over one of the silver-white scars, watching Fenris's expression at all times. "Is this uncomfortable for you? Does it hurt when I touch them?"

"Not exactly. It is more…tender than painful."

Nodding, Fletcher slowly continued his examination and asked Fenris several questions pertaining to the markings, but did not mention the actual lyrium procedure; he knew all he ever wanted to know about that.

"How's the book going, Fen?" he asked, gently setting Fenris's foot down, and he scribbled down a few notes before examining the foot again. "I see you've been reading Beth's book a lot."

"As you suggested, I have been reading one sentence at a time, breaking up any difficult words into sections, and enunciating them aloud. I have found this method to be very useful. I have reached page four."

"That's great! Would you like to read to me a bit later on?"

"I would be happy to, although you may find my reading style somewhat halting at first."

"Well, that's only natural; your confidence will grow with more practise. The fact that you already have the vocabulary is a huge help. When you reach one of those difficult words and pronounce each syllable, you already known the word and what it means, and it'll stay in your head because of that. Even so, you've progressed so much more quickly than I ever expected. You should give yourself a huge pat on the head."

Fenris looked at one of his hands and then moved it to the top of his head, where he patted it twice.

"There you go! And now that your reading's improving, we can work more on your writing," Fletcher enthused.

"I _am_ grateful," said Fenris, "but I am not certain why I would need to write. Reading, I can understand, but…"

"There are several reasons why you should learn to write." Fletcher grinned, and Fenris knew that this was not going to be an entirely serious answer. "Firstly, you could write love letters to me…or cheeky little notes telling me _exactly_ what you plan to do to me at day's end. Because I have plenty of _those_ in store for you, now that you can read." He glanced at Fenris, who was doing his best not to smile. "You could write papers, stories…anything you like. I used to write stories back in Lothering. Just silly ones, you know, for the little kids in the village."

A kind smile warmed Fenris's features. "I can imagine you doing that. The children must have been very fond of you."

"Beth and I used to babysit them once a fortnight when their parents went to the village dance. I'd regale them with heroic tales of derring-do and Beth would bake biscuits and make lemonade. I think Beth and I loved it even more than the kids did."

"That sounds quite wonderful," Fenris said, his eyes misting over. "I…wish I could have known you when you resided in Lothering."

"So do I, Fen." A look of sadness befell Fletcher as it occurred to him what Fenris must have been going through while he was telling silly stories to the local children.

"I have also devised stories, in a fashion," Fenris confided, noticing the change in Fletcher's demeanour. "But instead of writing them down, I have kept them here." Fenris again tapped the top of his head, and Fletcher halted his examination, fascinated.

"Really? What sort of stories?"

"You might think me a fool," Fenris began with a diffident shrug.

"Never." Fletcher set down Fenris's foot and crawled over to him, sitting beside him. "Please tell me," he encouraged.

A nervous laugh stuttered out of Fenris's mouth, and he grimaced slightly as Fletcher clasped his hand. "When I was a slave, I had very little time to myself. After receiving my markings, and when I was alone at night, I invented stories in my head and placed myself into them. I suppose it was a means of escape…I also invented a whole other life for myself." Fenris glanced anxiously at Fletcher then, and, seeing that Fletcher was _not _laughing as he'd expected, he continued. "I had a companion and a house of my own, with a small garden. I…would retreat there when things became…too much. Foolish, I know."

"No…" Fletcher clutched Fenris's hand tighter, exhaling heavily.

"I am sorry; I did not mean to cause you anguish," said Fenris softly.

"No, you didn't…I-I'm glad you had somewhere to escape to. That's not foolish at all. It makes complete sense. It probably kept you sane."

Fenris nodded slowly and released Fletcher's hand, snaking his arm around Fletcher's back, and Fletcher wrapped his own arm around the elf's shoulders, pulling him close. "It did. It was a place Danarius and Hadriana could not enter; a place where I was in complete control. Nothing went wrong there and nothing unpleasant ever occurred. It was a complete fantasy, but…I needed it."

"Would you tell me about it?" Fletcher asked, "If it's not too private to talk about?"

Fenris hesitated, worried that Fletcher would make light of his story, but he dismissed that thought when he saw the sincerity in Fletcher's eyes. "I have never spoken of this with anyone, but I will share it with you, if you wish. What would you ask of me?"

Fletcher considered this for a moment, and then he smiled faintly. "Tell me about your companion. What was he, or she, like?"

Fenris sighed, a wistful look in his eyes. "_She_ was always there, at the house. I do not know where she came from…I conjured her from my imagination. She was an elf, of course; young, with dark hair. There was nothing…sexual between us – at the time, I had no interest in _that_ - but there was affection, and mutual respect. When I retreated into this world, I would pretend that I had just arrived home after a day's work." He snorted and glanced at Fletcher, who lowered his eyes and tightened his grip on the elf's shoulder.

"She kept the house and cooked for me," Fenris continued. "There was always a sumptuous meal waiting when I 'arrived home'. We talked about many things; I enjoyed her company, and she mine. After we had eaten and cleared away, I went outside and tended my herb garden, and I would bring her a posy of flowers before we locked up for the night. We slept in the same bed, but only for warmth. We would hold each other and watch the moon rise in the sky until we fell asleep. Her name was Amica, meaning friend."

"She sounds like a very special friend, indeed," said Fletcher, his voice thick and hushed. "Do you still visit her?"

"I have not visited her for quite some time," he replied, stroking Fletcher's chest with his free hand, "but I will never forget her. She helped me a great deal."

The men shared a thoughtful silence while Fletcher pondered the significance of a female elf who cooked for Fenris and tended house; a mother figure, perhaps?

"Thank you for sharing that with me, Fenris," he said at length. "I feel like I've really got to know you while we've been in the Deep Roads. The real Fenris; the side of yourself that you keep hidden. I feel quite privileged."

"Thank _you_ for listening," replied Fenris. "I have also learned much during our journey; about the kind of man you are, what it means to trust, and what it is to have a true companion. A _real _one."

Fletcher kissed Fenris's nose and patted the elf's knee before sitting up straight. "You know something, Fen? I think we're really good together. _Really _good."

"I agree," Fenris replied, kissing Fletcher's cheek in return, before the mage sat up and moved back down to Fenris's feet.

"And now, if you've quite finished with the romantic pap, I have an examination to conclude."

"If _I _have finished. I _see_," teased the elf. "Are you aware, Fletcher, that you always end _romantic _conversations with a joke – despite the fact that you, more often than not, instigate them?"

"Ah, I have to, really," Fletcher explained with a sigh, full of longing, as he made further notes. "So that I don't get too carried away." He looked up, then, his gaze penetrating, his words spoken deliberately. "When we're out of here, you're going to see a different side to Fletcher Hawke."

"Is that a promise?"

"No, it's not a promise; it's a fact." They smiled at each other, and Fletcher lifted Fenris's foot, resuming his examination. "Now hold still. This won't hurt a bit."

~o~O~o~

"Just slow down, Merrill!" Aveline shouted, exasperated, as the Dalish elf almost disappeared out of sight. "_Merrill_! I'm wearing armour! I can't move as quickly as you!"

A small head peered around a tree and Merrill stepped out, and waited for Aveline, Donnic and the others to catch her up. "I-I'm just worried that they'll all be gone when we get there, that's all."

"I doubt very much that dead bodies would get up and walk, Merrill," Aveline said, struggling to catch her breath.

"Merrill," Donnic interjected, hoping to distract the elf long enough for her to slow down. "Why don't you tell us again what you were doing out here? You just barged into the office, screaming, "Murder!" To be honest, you didn't make much sense after that."

"Oh, right," she muttered. "I just panicked, you see. When I found them…oh, it was horrible!"

"Merrill!" barked Aveline, before sighing. "What were you _doing_ here in the first place?"

"Oh. Well, I came looking for Hawke. He showed me the site not long before they all set off. I remembered roughly where it was…I hoped that maybe they hadn't gone too far in, or that they hadn't started yet."

"But it's been over a month, Merrill."

"I-I know. I'm daffy, all right? I know that. But it doesn't matter why I came here. The fact is, there are five dead bodies lying outside. The cave. You know, where they went in?"

"_Yes_, Merrill," sighed Aveline as they got underway, more slowly this time. "Was there anyone there that we know?"

"Oh, no. They were all dwarves. They all had big bushy beards and little legs. Oh, and big axes, too. That's how I _know_ they were dwarves, you see."

"Thank you, Merrill," replied Aveline with a morose look at Donnic, whose lips twitched. "Right. Lead the way, then. _No _running!"

"A-all right. It's this way."

She led them through the woods on the outskirts of Kirkwall until they arrived at a wide clearing, where two empty wagons, some small carts and several pieces of mining equipment were scattered about.

"Over there." Merrill pointed eastward, and the small group followed the trail of equipment and detritus that led to a system of caves. As they approached the largest of the caves, Merrill stopped, refusing to go any further.

Aveline, Donnic and two of their fellow guards strode over to the cave mouth while Merrill stayed back, anxiously twisting her fingers, watching as Donnic bent over a prone dwarf who lay outside the cave.

"No, Donnic! Don't touch him!" Aveline commanded abruptly, and Donnic stood up, shooting a questioning glance at Aveline as she rushed to his side.

"Shit. Shit. Shit!" she cursed, and Donnic, seeing something in his captain's eyes he hadn't believed possible – panic – steered her away from the others, first telling them to investigate inside the cave, but not to touch the bodies.

"Captain? What is it?" he asked, guessing she was concerned for Hawke and his group.

"Nothing," she answered shortly. "Come on." With grim determination, she quickly moved to the cave, her features hardening as she surveyed the four other bodies that lay inside, noting their pallid, translucent skin, the blackened veins beneath and the liver-coloured lesions that peppered their bodies.

"It's the taint," she declared confidently, and Donnic suspected he caught a hitch in Aveline's voice. "Donnic, I want you to go back to town and round up as many guards as we can spare. I want _all _of our scouts; wake them if necessary. Hunter, Ryan, get yourselves around the pubs. I want as many able-bodied men as possible; they can arm themselves but make it clear that we won't tolerate any trouble. They'll be paid something out of the Keep's coffers. No templars. Get to it. Bring back torches, food, fresh water, rope, the works."

"Right, Captain," answered Hunter, and he and Ryan headed away from the clearing.

"Don't mention the taint at this stage," Aveline called after them. "No point in causing a panic. We'll tell the civilians when they get here, and they can choose whether they want to help or not."

"Captain," Donnic said quietly, noticing that Aveline hadn't paused for breath. "Is it wise to expose so many people to the taint?"

"They _can't _catch it unless they come into contact with darkspawn or tainted blood, Donnic!" she exclaimed impatiently.

"Are you certain?" he questioned sceptically. "How can you be so sure? How do we know it isn't in the air?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" she snapped, and Donnic frowned fiercely at her. "And don't give me that look, guardsman! I've seen someone die of the taint, all right? Do you really think I'd be so reckless with people's lives?"

"All right," he said defensively. "I only asked, you know. I didn't know you were experienced with this kind of thing."

"Well I am, so unless you intend to stand here questioning my orders all day long, those guards aren't going to round themselves up, are they?"

Only the rustle of trees could be heard as the wind picked up, and the two guards stared at each other, their hair whipping around their faces. After a minute, Donnic sighed.

"Aveline…are you all right? This isn't like you."

Her mouth opened a little and she drew a sharp breath, Donnic's concern almost undoing her, and then, for a split second, his features arranged themselves into those of her dead husband and she blinked, finding herself gawking at Donnic once again.

"Aveline?"

Releasing her breath in a burst, she screwed her eyes closed and pressed her lips together in a hard line. "I _gave_ you an order, guardsman," she said quietly, but there was no mistaking the steel in her voice.

Donnic nodded, his expression turning dour. "Fine, _Captain_. Forgive me for caring. I won't make that mistake again."

He turned on his heel and marched out of the clearing, catching up with his counterparts. Aveline squeezed her eyes even tighter and then opened them wide, the image of Wesley not leaving her even as she stared down at the bodies.

"It can't happen again. It can't. It just _can't_." She envisioned knocking on the door of Leandra Hawke and informing her that she'd had to kill her son.

"Merrill!" she shouted, and the elf, despite standing a hundred or so metres away, almost jumped out of her skin. "Help me find some kindling. These bodies need to be burned. Don't worry; you won't have to touch them."

Quickly nodding, Merrill scampered over to the trees and began searching for fallen branches. Aveline watched her for a moment and released a deep sigh, her heart pounding.

"I won't let it happen again," she vowed, and slowly walked over to Merrill, placing a hand on the elf's shoulder. "You did the right thing, Merrill," she said, her voice softer. "Come on; I'll give you a hand."

With worries of her own, Merrill threw herself into her task and the two women worked in silence.


End file.
